ilMASSAS 


UPTON 


SANTA  CRUZ 


SANTA  CRUZ 


MANASSAS 

A   NOVEL    OF    THE    WAR 


BOOKS  BY 

Upton  Sinclair 


THE  JOURNAL  OF  ARTHUR  STIRLING 
MANASSAS,  A  NOVEL  OF  THE  CIVIL 

WAR 

THE    JUNGLE 
THE   OVERMAN 
THE   MILLENNIUM 
THE   METROPOLIS 
THE   MONEYCHANGERS 
SAMUEL,  THE   SEEKER 
THE   FASTING  CURE 
LOVE'S  PILGRIMAGE 
SYLVIA 

SYLVIA'S  MARRIAGE 
DAMAGED  GOODS 
THE  CRY  FOR  JUSTICE 

THE  PROFITS  OF  RELIGION 
KING  COAL,  A  NOVEL  OF  THE 

COLORADO  STRIKE 
JIMMIE  HIGGINS 
THE  BRASS  CHECK 
100% — THE  STORY  OF  A  PATRIOT 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

THE  BOOK  OF  LIFE 

THE  GOOSE'STEP — A  STUDY  OF 

AMERICAN   EDUCATION 
THE  GOSLINGS — A  STUDY  OF  THE 

AMERICAN  SCHOOLS 

MAMMONART 

LETTERS  TO  JUDD 

THE  SPOKESMAN'S  SECRETARY 

OIL! 

MONEY  WRITES! 

BOSTON 

MOUNTAIN  CITY 
MENTAL  RADIO 
ROMAN  HOLIDAY 
THE  WET  PARADE 
AMERICAN  OUTPOST 
UPTON   SINCLAIR  PRESENTS 

WILLIAM  FOX 
AN   UPTON    SINCLAIR  ANTHOLOGY 


Plays 


PRINCE  HAGEN 

THE   NATUREWOMAN 

THE   SECOND  STORY  MAN 

THE   MACHINE 

THE   POT'BOILER 


HELL 

SINGING  JAILBIRDS 

BILL  PORTER 

OIL  (DRAMATIZATION) 


MANASSAS 

c.y/ 

A  Novel  of  the  War 


UPTON^INCLAIR 

Author  of  "The  Goose-Step"  "The  Brass  Check,' 
"The  Jungle,"  etc. 


PUBLISHED  BY  THE  AUTHOR 
PASADENA,  CALIFORNIA 


COPYRIGHT,   1904,   BY 
THE    MACMILLAN '  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,   1923,   BY 
UPTON    SINCLAIR 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


„ 

35-37 

z 

/v\3 


BOOK  1 

THE  MOKNING 


tfce  men  of  tljte  lana  map  fenoto  c^e  heritage 
10  come  DOUJU  to  tljrm. 


MANASSAS 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  house  stood  upon  a  gentle  slope,  from  which  you 
might  look  down  a  broad,  sandy  avenue  into  the  forests 
which  lined  the  creek.  Two-storied,  with  double  porti- 
cos upon  three  sides  and  great  white  pillars  about  which 
a  man's  arms  would  scarcely  go,  it  was  hidden  in  a  grove 
of  pecans  and  magnolias  which  had  the  depth  and  stillness 
of  cathedral  archways.  The  ground  beneath  was  soft 
and  glossy,  and  one  wondered  if  the  deep,  rich  green  had 
ever  been  trod  by  a  foot. 

It  was  March,  and  Southern  springtime.  The  great 
magnolias,  some  of  them  a  hundred  feet  high,  were  in 
the  full  tide  of  their  splendor,  their  crisp,  polished  leaves 
scarcely  visible  for  the  snow-white  flowers  which  covered 
them.  Here  and  there  about  the  lawn  were  rose  trees 
of  twice  a  man's  height,  flashing  like  beacons  with  their 
weight  of  cloth-of-gold  roses  a  span  across,  crimson  and 
orange,  and  with  petals  soft  and  heavy  as  velvet.  About 
the  lawn  were  scattered  banana  and  fig  trees,  pomegran- 
ates, china  trees,  and  huge  flaming  scarlet  lobelias.  Tall 
hedges  of  jasmine  and  sweetbrier  ran  around  the  house 
and  along  the  sides  of  the  lawn,  while  beyond  them  on 
one  side  stretched  a  grove  of  orange  trees  in  full  blossom, 
a  sea  of  flowers  which  loaded  the  breeze  with  sweetness 
and  brought  a  drunkenness  to  every  sense.  Upon  the  other 
side  was  the  flower  garden,  whose  riot  of  color  and  per- 
fume had  gathered  the  bees  and  humming-birds  from 
miles  around,  filling  the  air  with  a  sound  as  of  distant 
machinery. 

It  was  high  noon,  and  the  sultry  air  was  heavy  with 
sunlight.  In  front  of  the  mansion  everything  was  still- 

3 


4  MANASSAS 

ness,  save  for  the  slowly  moving  old  negro  who  was  tend- 
ing the  trees,  and  for  a  deer  which  browsed  upon  the 
lawn  —  now  and  then  nibbling  at  the  rose  trees  and 
bringing  down  showers  of  petals  upon  the  grass. 

Through  the  open  doorway  there  came  into  view  a 
group  of  figures,  an  aged,  white-haired  gentleman,  an 
almost  equally  aged  negro,  and  four  young  children ;  they 
descended  the  steps  slowly  and  came  across  the  lawn. 
The  first-named  towered  above  the  group,  a  striking 
figure ;  he  moved  with  trembling  step,  foot  by  foot,  and 
leaning  heavily  upon  the  others,  yet  holding  his  spare 
frame  stiffly  erect.  His  hair  was  snow-white  and  his 
face  withered  with  age,  but  still  full  of  power  —  with 
high  forehead,  prominent  nose,  and  alert  expression  of 
countenance.  He  carried  his  head  high,  and  seemed  to 
snuff  the  air  as  he  went,  learning  thus  of  the  springtide 
about  him  —  for  he  was  blind. 

The  old  negro  tottered  beside  him,  carrying  his  shawl 
and  cane.  The  two  oldest  boys  supported  him  with  their 
shoulders,  taking  step  for  step. 

"  Grandfather,"  said  the  child  in  advance,  a  little  girl, 
"let  us  go  to  the  orange  tree." 

"  I  will  try,"  he  responded.     "  Are  you  tired,  Allan  ?  " 

"  No,"  panted  the  younger  of  his  two  supporters,  "  I 
don't  mind.  Let's  go  to  the  tree."  He  was  only  eight 
years  old,  and  his  face  was  very  red  and  his  hands  clenched 
tightly  in  his  pockets,  but  he  made  no  sound. 

A  few  rods  farther  on  was  a  great  gnarled  orange  tree, 
with  rustic  seats  about  it.  "I'll  spread  your  shawl, 
grandfather,"  said  the  little  girl,  running  ahead. 

They  reached  the  seats,  and  he  sank  down  with  a  sigh ; 
the  old  negro  sat  near  him,  and  the  children  gathered 
about  his  knee. 

"  Now !  "  the  girl  exclaimed,  "  and  what  are  you  going 
to  tell  us?" 

"  Breath,  dear !  "  smiled  the  other.  "  Play  awhile  first. 
How  are  the  oranges,  Plato  ?  " 

"  Mos'  ready,  Marse  'Dolph,"  said  Plato,  gazing  up  at 
the  golden  fruit  left  from  the  year  before  to  ripen,  and 


THE  MORNING  5 

shining  like  jewels  amid  the  blossoms.  "  Few  mo'  days 
in  de  sun,  Marse  'Dolph." 

"  Grandfather,  the  new  governess  is  coming  to-morrow," 
put  in  the  boy  called  Allan.  "  Did  they  tell  you  ?  She 
wrote  from  New  Orleans." 

"  Tell  us  about  King's  Mountain !  "  broke  in  the  girl. 

"  No,  no,  about  Sir  Leslie !  "  said  the  boy. 

"  I  say  General  Coffee  !  "  cried  another. 

There  was  a  debate,  above  which  the  little  girl  kept 
crying  insistently,  "  King's  Mountain  !  " 

"  But,  Ethel  dear,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  told  you  all 
that  only  three  days  ago." 

"It  was  a  week  ago,  grandfather;  and  I've  forgotten 
all  of  it." 

"It  was  Friday  — wasn't  it  Friday,  Plato?" 

"Thursday,  Marse  'Dolph  —  the  day  Marse  Ben  was 
hyar." 

The  grandfather  hesitated.  "  Did  you  ever  meet  Sevier 
before  ?  "  asked  Allan,  suddenly. 

"Not  until  the  day  before  the  battle,  my  son." 

"  Did  he  know  you  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  Allan.  How  should  he  have  heard  of  me  ? 
I  was  only  a  boy  of  eighteen.  But  I  was  on  guard  when 
he  and  his  men  rode  up  to  the  camp." 

"  How  did  they  look,  grandfather  ?  " 

"  I  thought  they  were  Indians,"  answered  the  old  man  ; 
"  they  wore  belts  of  beads,  and  fringed  hunting-shirts  and 
leggings,  and  tomahawks.  Ah  me,  but  they  were  fighters, 
— wild,  gaunt  men,  with  grim  faces  that  promised  a  battle ! " 

The  children  sat  silent,  being  familiar  with  this  method 
of  starting  a  story.  "  And  Sevier  ?  "  asked  Allan. 

"  Sevier  ?  "  said  the  grandfather.  "  He  was  the  hand- 
somest man  I  ever  saw,  —  you  had  only  to  hear  him  laugh 
once  and  you  would  follow  him  forever.  Think  of  a  man 
who  fought  thirty-five  battles  and  never  lost  a  victory,  and 
never  got  a  wound  !  " 

Marse  'Dolph  paused  a  moment ;  all  seemed  to  know 
that  he  was  safely  started.  "  I  think,"  he  began  suddenly, 
"that  was  the  blackest  hour  our  country  ever  saw.  God 


6  MANASSAS 

grant  it  may  never  see  another  such  !  It  was  blackest  of 
all  in  the  South  —  the  British  had  conquered  Georgia 
and  captured  Charleston.  When  I  left  home,  Cornwallis 
had  swept  through  all  North  Carolina  with  his  Tories  and 
his  bloodthirsty  Indians  ;  he  had  overwhelmed  General 
Gates  at  Camden,  and  Tarleton  had  wiped  out  Sumter. 
But  over  in  the  mountains  in  Tennessee  were  the  Holston 
settlements,  where  the  backwoods  fighters  lived,  and 
the  British  sent  them  a  threat  that  if  they  took  part 
in  the  war  they  would  burn  their  homes.  And  ah,  you 
should  hear  men  tell  of  the  fury  that  message  roused  ! 
It  was  the  brutal  Ferguson  who  sent  it,  —  a  man  who  had 
been  burning  and  hanging  through  three  states.  And 
Sevier  and  Shelby  passed  the  word,  and  the  Holston  men 
flew  to  arms  ;  and  two  thousand  of  them,  facing  the  cold 
on  the  snow-covered  mountains,  without  tents  or  baggage, 
marched  for  a  week  over  into  North  Carolina.  There  it 
was  that  our  party  met  them  and  told  them  where  Fer- 
guson had  camped.  They  were  almost  exhausted,  but 
they  picked  nine  hundred  of  their  best,  and  we  marched 
all  night.  The  next  day  we  came  upon  the  regulars  and 
Tories  —  a  thousand  of  them  —  at  King's  Mountain." 

Here,  before  the  great  event,  the  story-teller  always 
paused,  and  raising  one  knee  upon  the  other,  he  would 
say  with  slow  preciseness  :  "  Now  here  is  the  mountain, 
and  here  is  the  North  Carolina  border,  and  here  is  the 
way  we  approached.  They  outnumbered  us,  but  we 
meant  to  beat  them,  and  surrounded  the  hill.  Here,  by 
Allan,  is  where  Sevier  was,  and  here  were  Shelby's  Ken- 
tuckians.  Colonel  Cleavland's  men  were  to  get  round  the 
mountain,  but  somehow  the  British  discovered  us  too 
soon,  so  they  had  to  ride  like  fox-hunters,  headlong  through 
the  forests  and  the  thickets,  over  rocks  and  ravines.  But 
they  got  there,  I  tell  you  !  " 

All  these  things  the  children  knew  quite  by  heart ;  but 
they  never  failed  to  listen  spellbound.  Gradually  the  old 
man's  memory  would  kindle,  as  scene  by  scene  the  pano- 
rama unrolled  itself  before  his  spirit's  eye.  The  passion 
of  the  battle  would  seize  hold  of  him  ;  he  would  hear  the 


THE  MORNING  7 

music  and  the  storm,  "  the  thunder  of  the  captains  and 
the  shouting."  Once  more  he  was  shoulder  to  shoulder 
with  these  heroic  men,  striding  to  their  heroic  deed  ; 
weakness  and  old  age  fled  away  and  a  new  world  leaped 
into  being,  a  world  to  which  he  belonged,  and  in  which 
he  was  not  blind.  So  as  with  swift  words  he  poured  out 
his  eager  tale,  to  the  little  group  around  him  it  was  like 
the  waving  of  an  enchanter's  wand.  They  sat  lost  to  all 
things  about  them,  tense  and  trembling,  clutching  each 
other's  arms  when  he  made  a  gesture,  crying  aloud  when 
he  gripped  his  hands. 

For  now  the  British  have  discovered  the  approach  ;  their 
pickets  are  firing  and  dashing  up  the  hill ;  and  Sevier, 
lifting  himself  up  in  his  stirrups,  is  shouting  the  word,  and 
the  mountaineers  are  bounding  up  the  slope,  making  the 
forest  echo  with  their  war-whoops.  Far  ahead  one  can  see 
the  redcoats  forming  their  line,  dragging  out  wagons  to 
make  defences  —  and  hear  above  all  the  din  the  shrill  silver 
whistle  which  tells  that  the  hated  Ferguson  is  there.  Now 
and  then  one  of  the  backwoodsmen  stops,  and,  crouching 
low,  takes  aim ;  until,  as  the  firing  grows  faster  and  the 
fight  hotter,  the  crashing  volleys  thunder  from  the  British 
lines,  and  the  combat  is  swallowed  in  rolling  clouds  of 
smoke. 

But  still  the  men  press  on,  firing  as  they  can,  hurling 
their  tomahawks  before  falling  back  to  reload.  When  the 
red-coated  lines  sweep  forward,  as  again  and  again  they  do, 
the  frontiersmen  turn  and  flee,  for,  being  without  bayonets, 
they  cannot  meet  a  charge.  Every  time  the  British  halt 
they  are  after  them  again,  however,  hanging  to  their  very 
heels.  "  No  troops  in  the  world  ever  fought  like  that  before," 
says  Grandfather  Montague;  "but  these  are  Americans, 
and  every  man  of  them  is  there  to  win  or  die." 

There  was  a  story  which  the  old  man  told  of  a  boy  who, 
assailed  by  a  redcoat,  had  shot  him  dead,  just  as  the  lat- 
ter's  bayonet  had  transfixed  his  hand  and  his  thigh.  "  Do 
you  remember  that,  Plato  ? "  he  would  cry ;  and  Plato 
would  answer  excitedly,  "I  'members  it,  Marse  'Dolph — • 


8  MANASSAS 

I  does ! "  And  when  the  more  matter-of-fact  Ethel 
would  exclaim,  "  Why  Plato,  how  you  do  talk ;  you  don't 
remember  it,  for  you  weren't  even  born  then !  "  Plato 
would  protest,  "It  doan'  make  no  diff'nce,  Miss  Ethel, 
I  'members  it  jes'  de  same !  " 

"  There  were  terrible  things  happened  in  that  battle,"  the 
grandfather  would  continue ;  "you  would  go  groping  up 
the  hill  through  the  smoke,  and  suddenly  it  would  break 
away  and  bayonets  leap  at  you  out  of  it.  But  it  was  not 
an  hour  before"  their  fire  began  to  slacken,  and  our  men 
seemed  to  find  it  out  all  at  once ;  they  yelled  and  went 
over  the  summit  and  at  them,  teeth  and  claws,  —  just  tore 
'em  all  up  !  I  saw  Sevier,  —  his  horse  had  been  shot,  — 
and  as  a  British  officer  rode  by  he  sprang  at  him  and 
spitted  him  through,  slammed  him  off  his  horse,  and  broke 
his  sword  in  him.  I  saw  Ferguson,  too,  black  and  bloody, 
and  howling  like  mad;  I  shot  at  him,  and  half  a  dozen 
more  shot  at  him,  and  down  he  went,  and  his  silver  whistle, 
too.  They  had  raised  a  white  flag  then,  but  it  was  a  long 
time  before  we  saw  it,  in  all  that  smoke  and  din.  When 
we  did  see  it  at  last  and  knew  it  was  victory  —  oh,  chil- 
dren, what  a  yell  there  was !  " 

There  were  many  other  stories  of  battle  which  Grand- 
father Montague  could  tell ;  to  go  no  farther  back,  there 
was  the  first  Sir  Leslie  Montague,  who  had  defended  his 
king  so  bravely  at  Marston  Moor,  and  had  none  the  less 
been  captured  by  a  plain  Commonwealth  soldier,  who  called 
himself  Captain  Otis,  but  was  nothing  but  a  Shropshire 
miller  for  all  that.  Quite  wonderful  it  was  to  hear  how 
Sir  Leslie  had  broken  loose  in  the  night-time,  and,  freeing 
two  of  his  companions,  had  seized  the  captain,  flung  him 
on  to  a  horse,  and  dashed  out  of  camp  with  him;  also 
how  the  gay  cavalier  had  let  him  go  again,  out  of  pure 
devilment,  or  because,  as  he  declared,  he  had  so  sturdily 
refused  to  go  back  to  his  mill  and  call  himself  a  captain 
no  more. 

There  was  also  a  second  Sir  Leslie,  who  had  come  to 
yirginia  to  better  his  fortune  and  had  been  a  famous 


THE  MORNING  9 

Indian  fighter  and  afterward  a  judge.  His  picture  stood 
in  the  main  hall  of  the  house,  and  made  the  children  shiver 
with  its  glare.  The  picture  of  the  first  Sir  Leslie  they  had 
never  seen,  but  they  hoped  some  day  to  see  it,  when  they 
visited  the  plantation  which  belonged  to  the  sons  of  Grand- 
father Montague's  elder  brother,  and  which  he  had  left 
forever  as  a  boy  when  he  shouldered  his  musket  and  strode 
away  to  join  Captain  Campbell's  patriot  band.  His  heart 
had  been  drawn  after  the  Holston  men  and  the  wild,  new 
country.  He  had  settled  there  when  the  war  was  over, 
and  he  had  earned  wealth  and  reputation  as  a  lawyer  ;  but 
later  he  had  moved  to  the  far  South,  into  lower  Mississippi, 
and  had  bought  ten  thousand  acres  of  the  swampy  bottom- 
lands of  Wilkinson  County,  which  were  to  be  had  for  a 
song  in  those  days,  but  were  now  far  beyond  the  range  of 
most  men's  voices.  It  was  here  that  he  had  brought  his 
negroes  and  cleared  his  plantation  —  Valley  Hall;  and 
from  here  he  had  raised  his  company  when  war  broke  out 
with  England  again  —  and  when  the  men  of  Wilkinson 
County  had  to  be  drafted  to  stay  at  home. 

—  And  so  to  New  Orleans !  This  was  a  battle  that  Plato 
did  remember  in  fact,  for  Marse  'Dolph  had  bought 
him  only  two  months  before  (from  a  French  barber  in 
Natchez,  who  beat  him)  and  had  made  him  his  body- 
servant  for  life.  Plato  —  Plato  Anaximenes  was  his  full 
name  —  could  describe  every  incident  of  the  conflict, 
and  had  doubtless  in  the  course  of  thirty  years  forgotten 
that  he  had  never  seen  a  bit  of  it,  having  all  the  time 
been  lying  flat  on  his  belly  behind  the  breastworks,  quak- 
ing with  terror  and  crying  out  for  mercy  to  the  vari- 
ous French  saints  whom  the  barber  had  taught  him  to 
respect. 

But  Marse  'Dolph  had  not  seen  Plato,  for  he  had 
been  striding  up  and  down  the  lines,  exhorting  his  men ; 
so  whenever  their  grandfather  was  not  to  be  found,  the 
children  would  besiege  Plato,  and  the  old  darkey  would 
thrill  them  with  many  details  not  in  the  histories  —  of 
"de  gin'erl"  galloping  back  and  forth  behind  the  lines 
upon  a  horse  ten  feet  high,  and  roaring  in  a  voice  which 


10  MANASSAS 

the  cannon  could  not  equal;  and  of  his  wild  leap  over  the 
cotton  bales,  and  his  charge  that  had.  thrown  the  redcoats 
into  confusion. 

This  was  early  in  '46,  and  General  Jackson  had  just 
died  at  the  Hermitage;  the  children  would  gaze  at  his 
picture  which  stood  in  the  dining  room,  sword  in  hand, 
and  imagine  him  swearing  his  furious  "By  the  Eter- 
nal !  "  and  locking  up  the  judge  who  had  resisted  his 
efforts  to  keep  the  city  under  martial  law  until  the  British 
were  quite  gone  home.  When  General  Jackson  was  a 
wild  Irish  emigrant  boy,  their  grandfather  told  them, 
the  British  had  captured  him  and  his  brother,  and  beaten 
them  over  the  head,  and  starved  them,  and  turned  them 
out  to  die  of  smallpox  ;  one  of  them  did,  but  Andrew 
didn't,  and  he  kept  the  memory  for  thirty-five  years. 
And  first  he  lay  for  them  at  Mobile,  and  pounded  them  to 
pieces  there  ;  and  then  he  rode  over  to  New  Orleans  —  like 
a  yellow  skeleton  with  illness,  having  to  be  tied  on  his 
horse  and  fed  on  boiled  rice,  but  oh  with  what  a  fire  in- 
side of  him!  And  when  the  British  landed  and  marched 
toward  the  city,  he  went  out  that  very  night  and  flung 
his  troops  at  them,  hurled  them  back,  and  gave  them  such 
a  fright  they  took  a  week  to  get  over  it ! 

Sometimes,  after  long  dwelling  upon  these  things,  the 
deeps  of  the  old  man's  soul  would  break  open,  and  the 
children  would  sit  trembling.  For  his  journey  was  almost 
done ;  he  gazed  into  the  face  of  death,  and  about  him  there 
hung  a  touch  of  awe.  When  he  told  of  these  heroes 
that  he  had  known  :  "  Some  of  them  trod  this  very  spot," 
he  would  say,  "  and  laughed  and  sang  here,  in  their  pride. 
And  their  lives  were  precious  to  them,  they  loved  the 
world;  they  had  wives  and  children,  and  hopes  unuttered; 
and  yet  they  marched  out  into  battle  and  died  for  their 
country  —  to  make  her,  arid  to  keep  her,  free.  Some- 
times at  night  I  seem  to  see  them,  and  to  hear  their  voices 
crying  out  to  me  that  it  must  not  all  be  for  nothing! 
When  I  am  gone,  too,  the  lives  that  they  lived,  and  the 
dreams  that  they  dreamed,  will  be  gone  forever.  And 


THE  MORNING  11 

yet  it  was  all  for  you,  that  you  might  reap  where  they 
had  sowed  and  be  happy  where  they  lay  dying.  So  I 
wonder  sometimes  if  I  have  told  you  enough,  if  I  have 
done  all  I  can  to  make  you  love  your  country,  to  make 
you  realize  how  precious  it  is.  My  children,  you  may  live 
ever  so  nobly,  you  may  die  ever  so  bravely,  but  you  will 
do  nothing  too  good  for  your  country!  All  the  hope  and 
all  the  meaning  of  the  ages  is  in  it,  and  if  it  fails  there 
will  never  be  any  success.  Tens  upon  tens  of  thousands 
have  laid  down  their  lives  to  win  its  freedom;  and  free- 
dom is  first  of  all  things,  and  best.  And  so  it  is  that  you 
may  dream  your  noblest  dream  and  hope  your  noblest 
hope  —  and  your  country  will  be  greater  than  that !  You 
may  dare  any  peril,  you  may  suffer  any  pain,  but  you 
will  not  do  too  much  for  your  country.  There  is  nothing 
that  can  ever  take  the  place  of  it,  —  not  friendship,  nor 
love,  nor  anything  else  in  life  can  be  so  precious." 


CHAPTER  II 

THERE  was  another  picture  which  stood  in  the  dining 
room  of  the  Valley  Hall  mansion,  —  a  picture  of  a  young 
girl,  beautiful  in  a  bridal  robe,  but  with  a  face  infinitely 
sad  and  tender.  There  was  no  story  that  Grandfather 
Montague  told  which  the  children  loved  more  than  the 
story  of  Lucy  Otis. 

Four  sons  had  been  born  to  the  family.  One  had  been 
killed  in  a  duel  not  long  after  New  Orleans,  and  one  had 
given  his  life  that  Texas  might  be  free.  The  other  two 
lived  still  at  the  old  place :  the  elder,  Henry  Montague, 
state  senator  from  Wilkinson  County,  wilh  his  one  child, 
the  boy  Allan ;  and  Hamilton,  the  younger  brother,  with 
his  wife  and  their  three  children. 

The  senator  was  a  lawyer,  and,  according  to  the  custom 
of  the  time,  had  gone  North  to  study.  Grandfather  never 
wearied  of  telling  of  the  wonderful  coincidence,  how  when 
he  had  taken  the  boy  to  Harvard  to  start  him  upon  his  new 
career,  the  first  professor  whom  they  met  was  named  Otis  ; 
and  how  when  he  invited  them  to  his  home  in  Boston,  the 
first  picture  they  saw  in  his  parlor  was  one  of  the  ancestor 
of  the  family,  that  same  Shropshire  miller  whom  the  elder 
Sir  Leslie  had  fought. 

Seven  years,  altogether,  the  young  man  had  spent  North  ; 
ten  years  later  he  had  returned  again,  and  when  he  came 
home  that  time  he  brought  with  him  as  his  bride  the  young- 
est daughter  of  the  Otis  family,  the  beautiful  Lucy,  as  yet 
still  in  her  'teens.  That  had  been  a  decade  ago,  but  the 
darkies  of  Valley  Hall  still  discussed  the  festivities  which 
took  place  on  that  home-coming.  This  was  one  story  in 
the  telling  of  which  Plato  always  bore  off  the  palm ;  then 
it  was  that  the  afflatus  descended  upon  him,  and  he  justi- 
fied his  name.  There  was  a  certain  turkey  which  occupied 
in  the  memory  of  Plato  the  place  which  Colonel  Sevier 

12 


THE   MOBNING  13 

occupied  in  his  master's.  "  Chillun,"  he  would  say,  his 
eyes  rolling,  "  dat  turkey  was  born  a  emperor ;  he'd  walk 
right  out  in  de  very  front  lawn,  he  would,  an'  nobody 
bother  him.  De  day  he  was  picked  dey  was  niggers  from 
de  Hopper  place  walked  ten  mile  to  see  him,  —  you  kin 
ask  Taylor  Tibbs,  an'  he'll  tell  you."  (Taylor  Tibbs  was 
the  family  coachman,  and,  with  his  two  hundred  and  ninety 
pounds  clad  all  in  red,  had  stood  behind  Marse  'Dolph's 
chair  the  day  he  carved  that  turkey.) 

For  just  a  year  the  beautiful  Lucy  had  been  the  life  of 
Valley  Hall ; '  and  then  one  night  she  died  in  childbirth, 
and  it  seemed  many  a  long,  long  day  before  ever  the  sun 
rose  again  upon  the  old  plantation.  There  was  only  the 
picture  left,  and  the  boy  used  to  stand  in  front  of  it  for 
hours  at  a  time,  gazing  into  strange  vistas  and  haunted 
by  fearful  thoughts.  "  It  was  a  curse,"  he  had  once  heard 
his  father  say  ;  "  her  mother  died  too,  when  she  was  born." 
That  seemed  very  wild  to  Allan ;  on  January  nights  when 
the  north  winds  blew,  he  would  sit  in  the  dark  corner  by 
the  fireplace,  and,  lost  to  the  merriment  of  the  other  chil- 
dren, would  stare  into  the  face  as  it  gleamed  in  the  fire- 
light, groping  for  the  soul  behind  its  pleading  eyes.  What 
was  she  like  ?  What  would  she  have  said  to  him  —  what 
was  she  trying  to  say  to  him  now  ?  She  had  been  very 
loath  to  leave  him  —  did  she  know  when  he  was  thinking 
of  her  ?  Where  was  she  gone  that  she  never  spoke  to  him 
—  never  even  a  word,  when  no  one  else  was  by  ?  There 
was  no  end  to  the  child's  strange  fancies,  —  how  could  he 
believe  that  he  was  never  to  learn  any  more  ?  He  longed 
so  to  know  what  her  voice  was  like ;  and  sometimes  when 
there  were  guests  in  the  Hall  he  would  start  at  an  unfamil- 
iar tone,  and  turn  and  stare  at  the  picture.  Once  when  he 
had  been  watching  from  the  corner,  his  father  had  come 
and  put  his  arms  about  him,  and  their  tears  had  mingled. 
It  is  so  that  friendships  are  made. 

Very  soon  Hamilton  Montague  had  brought  his  wife  to 
Valley  Hall  to  become  the  mother  of  the  orphan  and  the 
mistress  of  the  household.  Of  their  two  children  who  had 


14  MANASSAS 

then  been  born,  Randolph,  tall  and  imperious,  was  three 
years  older  than  Allan ;  and  Ralph,  the  younger,  was  just 
his  age.  Little  Ethel  had  been  born  after  they  came. 

Besides  these  there  was  generally  a  numerous  company, 
always  guests,  and  nearly  always  relatives.  Also,  of  much 
importance  to  the  boys,  there  was  "  Uncle  Ben  "  Handy,  a 
brother-in-law  of  Hamilton  Montague  —  a  gentleman  with- 
out income  or  occupation,  but  none  the  less  a  welcome 
member  of  the  family.  It  was  one  of  the  characteristics 
of  the  old  Southern  feudalism  that  numerous  retainers 
added  to  the  prestige  of  the  house. 

Allan's  father  was  a  lawyer,  riding  the  circuit,  and 
burdened  with  the  cares  of  state  besides ;  Hamilton  Mon- 
tague was  charged  with  the  management  of  the  planta- 
tion, with  two  overseers  and  about  six  hundred  negroes. 
He  was  a  grave  and  unbending  man,  and  so  it  was  that 
Uncle  Ben  was  the  chief  companion  of  the  boys.  It  was 
Uncle  Ben  who  told  all  the  stories  and  played  all  the 
jokes ;  if  the  merriment  owed  something  now  and  then  to 
mint-juleps,  the  boys  were  none  the  wiser.  It  was  Uncle 
Ben  to  whom  they  turned  whenever  they  sought  amuse- 
ment—  who  could  carve  beautiful  walking-sticks,  and 
make  traps  and  willow  whistles. 

A  wonderful  place  was  Valley  Hall  for  children,  a  uni- 
verse in  itself;  infinitely  alive, —  crowded  with  every  kind 
of  creature  which  boys  could  pet,  or  tease,  or  hunt.  There 
were  deer  browsing,  peacocks  strutting  about  the  lawn, 
and  flying  squirrels  and  birds  without  end  in  the  trees. 
There  were  huge  yards  full  of  every  kind  of  chicken,  duck, 
and  turkey,  pigs  without  count,  cows  and  sheep,  horses 
and  dogs.  There  were  two  great  stables,  one  for  the  work 
horses  and  mules,  and  one  for  the  family  stud;  every 
person  in  the  family  owned  a  horse,  and  some  several,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  carriage  horses  and  the  children's 
ponies  and  the  four  black  mares  which  were  hitched  to 
the  family  coach.  The  plantation  was  divided  into  two 
farms,  each  worked  separately,  and  one  had  to  walk  half  a 
mile  to  the  villages  of  the  field-hands;  but  the  quarters  of 
the  house  servants,  a  row  of  a  score  of  whitewashed  cabins, 


THE  MORNING  15 

stood  in  the  rear  of  the  "  Great  House  "  and  here  was  an 
innumerable  collection  of  playthings.  Counting  all  ages 
and  sizes,  from  toddlers  up  to  great,  overgrown,  wild  boys 
and  girls  in  their  teens,  there  were  full  threescore  little 
darkies  for  the  children  to  muster  into  regiments  and 
drill  and  quarrel  with,  as  to  which  should  be  the  Ameri- 
cans and  which  the  ever  defeated  British.  There  was 
very  little  distinction  of  master  and  slave  between  the 
white  children  and  those  of  the  more  aristocratic  servants 
—  of  Aunt  Jinny  the  cook,  of  Taylor  Tibbs  the  coachman, 
of  Pericles  the  butler,  and  of  Thomas  Jefferson  the  head 
gardener. 

Within  the  limits  of  the  plantation  the  children  might 
roam  alone ;  and  one  might  ride  to  one's  heart's  content 
without  ever  going  off  the  plantation,  for  it  was  five  or 
six  miles  in  length.  There  was  no  end  to  the  exploring 
that  might  be  done  upon  it,  and  one  grew  very  proud  to 
gallop  over  it  and  reflect  that  some  day  it  would  all  belong 
to  one's  self.  It  was  rich  bottom-land,  with  deep,  black 
soil,  and  almost  no  hills  upon  it.  Its  slope  ran  down  to 
Buffalo  Bayou,  where  were  tangled  cane-brakes  and  dense 
black  forests,  swamps  of  cypress  draped  with  sorrowful 
gray  moss  and  hiding  parasitic  flowers  of  gorgeous  hues. 
Into  these  one  might  not  venture,  for  here  were  alligators 
and  moccasins,  wolves  and  bears,  and  sometimes  at  night 
a  yelling  panther.  But  there  was  Ned  the  hunter,  a  great 
giant  of  a  man,  the  only  negro  on  the  place  who  was 
allowed  to  carry  a  gun,  and  whose  one  duty  it  was  to 
creep  through  the  forests  and  bring  back  at  night  upon 
his  shoulder  a  deer,  or  a  load  of  wild  ducks  or  turkeys,  or 
a  runaway  pig.  By  gifts  it  was  occasionally  possible  to 
propitiate  him  to  allow  a  boy  to  steal  along  behind  him 
and  witness  these  breathless  adventures.  But  through 
these  dense,  black  swamps  it  was  hard  to  pass,  tangled  as 
they  were  with  wild  vines  and  treacherous  with  ooze  and 
with  the  sharp  spikes  of  the  cypress.  In  them  grew  spear- 
like  palmettoes,  and  bulrushes  of  incredible  height,  and 
great  lemon-colored  lotus  flowers  a  foot  across. 

Upon  the  cultivated  part  of  the  plantation  were  fields 


16  MANASSAS 

of  corn  and  cotton,  stretching  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach.  Here,  at  whatever  hour  of  the  day  one  came,  one 
always  found  the  gangs  of  field-hands  at  work,  men  and 
women,  in  the  early  spring  breaking  up  the  black  soil 
with  their  thick,  heavy  hoes,  the  drivers,  whip  in  hand, 
watching  them  to  see  that  none  shirked.  They  were 
picturesque  from  the  distance,  but  not  when  one  rode 
close,  for  they  were  sodden  and  brutelike  and  unthink- 
ably  filthy.  Later  in  the  year  one  found  the  fields  a  magi- 
cal green,  and  later  still  of  an  Arctic  whiteness;  then  the 
gangs  came  in  singing,  with  great  baskets  of  the  new- 
picked  cotton  balanced  on  their  heads. 

It  was  for  these  full  baskets  that  the  plantation  was 
run,  and  at  the  critical  time  of  the  year  nothing  else  was 
in  any  one's  thoughts.  The  two  overseers  had  each  the 
same  number  of  hands  and  of  acres,  and  keen  was  the  rivalry 
and  eager  the  count  of  the  bales;  when  at  last  they  were 
loaded  for  Natchez,  the  papers  published  the  record, 
"  Valley  Hall  has  so  'many  bales  to  the  hand,"  and  men 
called  this  "  the  cotton  brag."  In  one  corner  of  the  house 
was  the  "  office"  where  the  men  lounged  and  smoked;  and 
when  the  neighbors  stopped  by  you  heard  nothing  else 
talked  of  but  that. 

By  "  neighbors  "  one  meant  anybody  who  lived  within 
twenty  or  thirty  miles.  But  a  single  road  passed  Valley 
'Hall,  — a  wide,  sandy  avenue,  arched  with  trees  like  a  park- 
way. The  country  was  occupied  by  wealthy  planters  — 
there  was  no  other  population  from  Homochitto  Creek 
until  you  reached  Woodville,  the  pretty  little  court  town 
ten  or  fifteen  miles  from  the  Hall.  Most  of  these  neigh- 
bors were  welcome  at  the  Hall,  but  not  all  of  them,  for 
there  were  some  nouveaux  riches,  ex-overseers,  or  negro- 
traders,  or  what-not,  —  vulgar  persons  who  had  made  for- 
tunes out  of  cotton;  one  spoke  to  them  on  the  road,  but 
one  did  not  know  their  wives. 

Such  as  were  welcome  came  whenever  they  could,  and 
stayed  as  long  as  they  could  be  persuaded.  There  was 
rarely  a  time  when  there  were  not  half  a  dozen  guests 
at  dinner,  which  made  Aunt  Jinny's  life  a  perpetual 


THE  MORNING  17 

adventure,  but  was,  it  must  be  confessed,  a  sore  trial  to 
the  children,  who  sat  at  the  table  and  wriggled  in  their 
seats  with  impatience,  watching  each  plate  with  hungry 
eyes,  and  counting  the  number  that  still  intervened. 

Huge  dinners  they  were,  and  a  dozen  arrivals  made  no 
difference  with  them.  Hamilton  Montague  sat  at  the 
head  of  the  table  and  carved  the  great  turkey  or  the 
saddle  of  venison  or  mutton,  and  Mrs.  Montague  pre- 
sided over  the  ham  and  chickens  at  the  foot.  There  were 
always  hot  breads  and  pastries  and  vegetables  without 
count,  and  every  delicacy  which  the  great  plantation  could 
offer.  These  Southern  dinners  must  have  been  expe- 
rienced to  be  understood ;  and  like  some  other  good  things 
of  life,  such  as  Scott  and  Dumas,  for  instance,  one  must 
have  experienced  them  while  young  and  not  afraid  of 
enjoying  them  too  much. 

After  dinner,  about  four  o'clock,  the  ladies  would  re- 
tire for  a  nap,  the  men  would  stretch  themselves  out  on 
the  sofas,  or  perhaps  on  the  lawn,  and  the  boys  betake 
themselves  to  their  games.  For  tea,  in  fair  weather, 
the  table  was  generally  spread  upon  the  broad  veranda ; 
and  afterwards,  in  the  witching  hours  of  a  Southern  sun- 
set, there  would  be  music  and  croquet  and  walks  amid 
endless  bowers  and  gardens  of  roses.  At  twilight  one 
sat  and  drank  in  their  perfumes,  watching  the  evening 
star  and  listening  to  the  mocking-bird,  or  to  the  negroes 
singing  in  the  distance,  and  feeling  his  heart  rise  up 
within  him  at  the  beauty  and  joyfulness  of  the  world. 

So  these  children  lived,  wrapped  in  happiness  as  a  bird 
in  the  air,  unconscious  of  its  existence  :  the  thing  called 
life  not  yet  a  memory  and  a  duty,  but  still  a  presence  and 
a  joy.  For  the  day  was  young,  and  all  things  that  lived 
were  thrilling :  — 

"  The  earth  and  every  common  sight 
Apparelled  in  celestial  light." 

What  pen  could  tell,  for  instance,  the  wonders  of  the 
place  called  4 Natchez  !  Once  or  twice  a  year  their  mother 


18  MANASSAS 

put  them  all  in  the  great  family  coach  and  took  them 
upon  a  miraculous  excursion  ;  riding  all  afternoon  along 
roads  lined  with  goldenrod  so  high  that  you  could  cut  it 
for  a  walking-stick,  spending  the  night  at  a  kinsman's 
home,  and  then  riding  all  day  again,  one  came  at  last  to 
the  marvellous  city,  with  its  streets  blocked  with  cotton 
and  its  wharves  where  the  steamers  came.  The  steamers 
in  those  days  were  huge  floating  palaces  ;  you  saw  one  go 
by  in  the  night-time,  a  mass  of  gleaming  lights,  the  throb 
of  its  machinery  beating  back  in  echoes  from  the  tree- 
lined  banks,  and  your  soul  went  after  it,  into  faery  lands 
not  forlorn.  Or  to  watch  them  loading  by  flaring  torch- 
light,—  the  broad-backed,  half-naked  negroes  and  the 
long  chutes  down  which  the  bales  of  cotton  leaped  madly 
to  the  deck  !  "  Niggers  above  and  paddies  below,"  was 
the  rule  at  that  game.  "  Niggers  too  precious  to  risk," 
men  said  ;  "  you  don't  have  to  pay  for  the  paddies."  And 
last,  but  not  least,  the  great  yellow  river  —  the  children 
would  have  stayed  all  day  to  watch  it,  with  its  tangled 
driftwood,  its  long  rows  of  cotton  trees  and  rice-fields,  its 
mud-flats  with  pelicans  and  herons  stalking  along. 

And  then  there  was  the  annual  trip  to  Pass  Christian. 
Once  a  year,  when  the  hot  season  approached,  there  began 
to  be  a  stir  in  Valley  Hall  —  a  giving  of  orders  and  a 
packing  of  trunks,  and  some  morning  the  great  coach 
appeared,  followed  by  all  the  other  vehicles  available,  and 
servants  and  family,  trunks,  boxes,  and  bundles,  rolled 
away  in  a  long  procession,  the  men-folks  riding  ahead 
like  Arab  sheiks  leading  their  families  and  herds  in  search 
of  pastures  new.  Pass  Christian  was  a  gulf-coast  resort, 
where  all  the  aristocracy  of  the  lower  ^South  had  their 
summer  villas  ;  the  Montagues  spent  a  week  in  reaching 
it,  always  camping  out  of  doors  at  night  when  the  weather 
was  fair. 

And  these  were  but  a  few  of  the  great  events  that 
came  yearly.  There  were  five  birthdays  to  be  celebrated, 
four  for  the  children  and  one  for  Grandfather  Montague, 
and  a  Fourth  of  July,  and  a  New  Orleans  Day,  and  a 


THE   MORNING  19 

Washington's  Birthday,  and  an  election  day — at  which  the 
family  had  generally  great  things  at  stake.  It  was  not 
every  one  whose  father  was  chosen  senator,  and  Allan  held 
his  head  very  high. 

Then  also  —  as  one  saves  the  best  arrow  in  his  quiver 
till  the  last  —  there  was  Christmas  :  looked  forward  to 
for  months  by  old  and  young,  and  in  sublimity  exceeding 
the  imaginations  of  the  wildest.  There  were  parties  and 
dances,  indoors  and  outdoors,  winter  and  summer,  at  the 
Hall,  but  none  of  them  was  anything  like  the  Christmas 
party.  Then  the  guests  journeyed  from  far  states,  and 
there  was  fattening  of  geese  and  turkeys  for  many  weeks 
beforehand.  On  Christmas  Eve  there  were  bonfires  as  big 
as  the  smoke-house,  and  whole  beeves  roasting  before 
them  ;  and  inside  every  room  was  crowded,  and  there  was 
fiddling  and  dancing  and  feasting  and  egg-nog  drinking 
to  make  one's  head  reel.  The  next  morning  there  were 
huge  stockings  over  the  fireplace,  and  after  breakfast  a 
raid  upon  the  brick  "  storehouse,"  from  whose  depths  Mrs. 
Montague  and  her  children  brought  endless  presents  for 
the  servants.  In  the  afternoon  there  was  a  great  hunt, 
and  much  blowing  of  horns  and  barking  of  dogs  ;  and  in 
the  evening  more  dancing  and  singing  of  songs,  and  brew- 
ing of  punch.  These  festivities  lasted  for  ten  days,  and 
during  that  time  no  guests  went  away  and  no  work  was 
done  on  the  plantation  except  by  the  cooks. 

Such  was  the  children's  world,  and  they  knew  little 
about  any  other.  To  be  sure,  they  had  an  English  gov- 
erness and  they  read  Sir  Walter  Scott  and  dreamed  of 
chivalry.  Also  they  knew  of  the  North  from  Allan's 
father ;  and  the  loads  of  supplies  which  came  once  a  year 
were  said  to  be  from  there.  An  unpleasant  sort  of  a  place, 
the  North,  where  it  snowed  half  the  time  and  no  cotton 
grew,  and  the  people  thought  only  of  money,  and  the  ser- 
vants were  Irish  and  did  not  know  their  places  !  Worst  of 
all  it  was  the  North  that  was  the  habitat  of  the  animal 
called  Abolitionist. 

Allan  was  eight,  and  Randolph  eleven,  which  was  old 


20  MA^ASSAS 

enough  to  have  opinions  about  politics.  And  whenever 
the  guests  were  not  discussing  plantation  affairs,  and  the 
price  of  negroes  and  cotton,  and  the  races  at  New  Orleans, 
they  talked  politics  —  and  Abolitionists  I 

The  Abolitionists  believed  that  niggers  were  as  good  as 
white  men,  and  that  they  ought  to  be  free  and  allowed  to 
marry  white  women.  They  were  always  holding  meetings 
and  "  resolving  "  and  publishing  articles  to  say  that  slave- 
holders were  thieves  ;  and  some  of  them  came  down  to  stir 
the  slaves  to  revolt,  and  to  carry  them  off  to  Canada.  At 
first  people  had  tried  mobbing  them,  and  the  Southern 
legislatures  had  put  prices  on  the  heads  of  the  worst  of 
them,  but  neither  of  these  methods  seemed  to  do  any  good. 
They  had  gone  on  just  the  same  for  fifteen  years  now,  and 
had  even  gotten  so  bold  as  to  send  petitions  to  Congress, 
which  had,  of  course,  refused  to  receive  them,  —  only  a 
terrible  old  man,  ex-President  John  Quincy  Adams,  who 
had  been  in  Congress  since  nobody  could  reme'mber  when, 
kept  making  a  disturbance  about  it  and  had  actually  car- 
ried his  point  awhile  ago.  So  things  went  from  bad  to 
worse,  and  naturally  the  people  of  the  South  got  more  and 
more  angry. 

There  was  a  question  which  was  much  discussed  at 
Valley  Hall  —  never  in  the  presence  of  Grandfather  Mon- 
tague, who  would  not  stand  it,  but  often  when  the  planters 
stopped  by  at  the  office.  One  of  the  neighbors  of  the 
Montagues  was  a  Mr.  Davis,  who  lived  a  mile  or  two  out- 
side of  Woodville  and  who  had  once  been  a  lieutenant  in 
the  army,  but  who  had  retired  many  years  ago  and  turned 
farmer  and  student  of  politics ;  two  years  ago  he  had  come 
out  of  his  solitude  and  been  elected  to  Congress,  at  the 
same  time  that  Allan's  father  had  been  sent  to  the  state 
senate. 

Mr.  Jefferson  Davis  was  a  prim  little  gentleman,  with  a 
spare  figure  and  face,  very  precise  and  stately  in  his  man- 
ners, grave  and  reticent,  but  irritable,  and  when  excited 
both  eloquent  and  imperative.  He  had  thought  a  great 
deal  about  this  question  of  the  Abolitionists,  and  took 
an  alarming  view  of  it.  It  was  his  opinion  that  the  North 


THE   MORNING  21 

was  preparing  to  make  war  upon  Southern  institutions ; 
and  day  by  day,  with  endless  iteration,  he  'pointed  out 
the  ever  growing  signs  of  this.  It  was  of  no  use  in 
the  world,  he  asserted,  to  argue  that  Congress  could 
not  trouble  Slavery.  The  struggle  would  come  over  the 
territories  —  the  North  meant  to  exclude  slave  owners 
from  their  rights  in  the  new  lands  they  had  helped  to 
win,  and  if  the  North  once  got  political  control  in  this 
way,  could  it  not  amend  or  override  the  Constitution  as 
it  chose  ?  Mr.  Davis  was  beginning  to  question  whether 
Congress  had  any  right  at  all  to  exclude  slaves  from 
a  territory  —  or,  if  this  view  seemed  too  radical,  whether 
the  exercise  of  the  right  was  not  a  danger  from  which  the 
South  ought  to  protect  itself  by  threatening  immediate 
secession. 

There  was  nothing  especially  new  about  these  views; 
Senator  Calhoun  had  been  advocating  them  for  fifteen 
years,  but  men  were  only  now  beginning  to  awaken  to 
their  truth.  Out  of  the  deepening  alarm  had  grown  a 
crusade  which  the  people  of  Valley  Hall  watched  with 
tense  interest,  and  Senator  Montague  had  declared  to  Mr. 
Davis  that  if  it  failed  he  should  conclude  that  Mr.  Davis 
was  right. 

Ten  years  ago  one  of  the  Montagues  had  given  his  life- 
blood  for  Texas.  The  wretched  mongrel  inhabitants  of 
Mexico  —  degenerate  illustrations  of  the  consequences  of 
the  doctrine  of  equality  and  of  white  men's  mixing  with 
lower  races  —  a  people  who  had  had  some  forty  revolutions 
in  the  last  twenty  years  —  had  been  at  last  swept  out  of 
the  great  state,  and  ever  since,  the  people  of  the  South 
had  been  aiming  to  bring  Texas  into  the  Union  where  she 
belonged.  Incredible  as  it  may  seem,  and  in  full  light  of 
the  notorious  fact  that  France  and  England  were  intrigu- 
ing for  the  state,  the  North  had  balked  this  plan,  for  the 
avowed  reason  that  it  might  bring  about  a  war  with 
Mexico,  but  really  because  Texas  would  become  a  slave 
state.  And  now,  when  after  desperate  efforts  the  plot  had 
been  foiled,  and  the  state  saved  to  the  Union,  Abolitionist 
fanaticism  was  trying  to  limit  its  borders  and  to  cheat 


22  MANASSAS 

Texas  of  her  rights,  again  upon  the  old  pretext  that 
it  might  bring  about  a  war  with  Mexico ! 

The  President,  James  K.  Polk,  was  a  good  Democrat, 
elected  by  Southern  votes;  but  the  thing  which  Valley 
Hall  waited  breathlessly  to  see  was  whether  the  pressure 
from  the  North,  the  clamor  of  the  Abolitionist  press  and 
pulpit  could  avail  to  turn  him  back.  Valley  Hall  was  not 
afraid  of  war  —  was  it  not  the  manifest  destiny  of  the 
Americans  to  conquer  the  territory  of  this  hateful  and 
vicious  race  of  Indian  half-breeds  and  degenerate 
Spaniards  ? 

Thus  there  were  days  of  excitement  on  the  plantation, 
when  all  the  prophesies  of  Mr.  Davis  were  scattered  to 
thin  air.  For  first  the  news  had  come  that  General  Taylor 
had  been  ordered  to  plant  the  American  flag  on  the  banks 
of  the  Rio  Grande;  and  then,  one  never-to-be-forgotten 
day  in  April,  Uncle  Ben  had  dashed  up  the  road  with 
foam-covered  horse,  and  shouted  that  Mexico  had  fired 
upon  the  flag,  and  that  the  war  was  on ! 

That  day  Allan's  father  wrote  a  letter  to  his  constitu- 
ents, which  was  published  in  the  Woodville  Republican, 
resigning  his  seat,  and  announcing  that  it  was  his  inten- 
tion to  raise  a  company.  After  this  there  was  never  an 
instant's  rest  at  Valley  Hall,  —  messages  coming  and  going 
day  and  night,  and  the  hum  of  preparation  in  the  air. 
Hamilton  Montague  enlisted,  and  soon  afterward  it  was 
announced  that  Mr.  Davis  had  resigned  and  was  on  his 
way  from  Washington  to  take  command  of  the  regiment. 
It  was  the  famous  "  First  Mississippi,"  and  in  it  was  the 
flower  of  the  aristocracy  of  the  state  ;  the  house  was  thrown 
open  to  Senator  —  now  Captain  —  Montague's  company, 
and  men  slept  on  the  sofas  and  the  verandas  and  put  up 
tents  upon  the  lawn. 

Never  could  the  children  forget  the  morning  the  com- 
pany marched  away,  and  how  awful  was  the  sudden  silence 
that  fell  upon  the  Hall.  There  was  no  one  left  but  the 
mother  and  Uncle  Ben,  —  the  chickens  and  ducks  were 
gone,  and  you  missed  even  the  squealing  of  the  pigs  at 
feeding  time0  The  family  lived  only  on  the  mail  days  after 


THE  MOENING  23 

that,  and  poor  Mrs.  Montague  would  whisper  to  her  chil- 
dren that  it  was  the  duty  of  a  soldier's  family  to  be  brave 
—  and  burst  into  wild  weeping  while  she  said  it. 

The  regiment  sailed  from  New  Orleans  for  Point  Isabel, 
the  nearest  harbor  to  General  Taylor's  victorious  army. 
Its  war  hardships  began  at  once ;  it  was  encamped  on  a 
bare  island,  baked  by  the  sun,  buried  by  sand-storms, 
and  frozen  by  "  northers,"  until  forty  of  the  men  were 
invalided  or  dead.  It  was  August  before  the  army  got 
on  the  march;  General  Taylor  was  a  Whig,  and  the 
administration  could  not  quite  make  up  its  mind  to  sup- 
port him. 

But  alas,  the  only  other  commander  in  sight,  General 
Scott,  was  also  a  Whig,  so  there  was  no  help  for  it !  The 
start  was  made  at  last,  and  suddenly,  after  months  of 
weary  waiting,  came  news  of  a  victory  that  set  the  whole 
heart  of  the  South  to  pulsating  with  wild  pride  and  joy. 
The  Mexicans,  ten  thousand  of  them,  had  fortified  them- 
selves in  the  city  of  Monterey.  They  should  have  held 
it  against  ten  times  that  number,  for  every  house  was  a 
fortress,  low  and  square,  with  heavy  walls  of  Spanish 
masonry,  and  flat  roofs  and  grated  windows,  but  six  thou- 
sand Americans  had  taken  it  with  three  days'  fighting, 
capturing  nearly  twice  their  own  number  of  men !  On 
the  second  day  General  Quitman's  Mississippi  brigade* 
the  city  looming  before  it  in  a  mist  of  smoke,  had  swept 
forward  in  one  grand  charge,  and  amid  a  rain  of  fire  had 
planted  its  flags  on  the  battlements.  The  next  day  the 
same  brigade  had  marched  into  the  city  —  to  the  very 
centre  of  it,  in  spite  of  a  ceaseless  opposition  from  win- 
dows and  roofs,  from  ditches,  canals,  and  barricades. 
Tears  of  pride  ran  down  Grandfather  Montague's  cheeks 
when  that  news  arrived. 

Again  there  was  weary  waiting ;  the  flabby  administra- 
tion, which  by  this  time  had  earned  the  contempt  of  all 
men,  had  somehow  come  to  the  conclusion  that  two  Whig 
heroes  might  be  less  troublesome  than  one,  and  so  the 
expedition  for  the  march  to  the  City  of  Mexico  was  being 
organized  under  General  Scott.  Meanwhile,  however, 


24  MANASSAS 

there  caine  from  Washington  sudden  tidings  which  made 
men  stare  at  each  other  in  consternation  —  which  sent  a 
pulse  of  indignation  through  the  South,  from  Maryland 
to  Texas.  Here  were  Southerners  toiling  and  battling, 
pouring  out  their  life-blood  for  the  whole  nation,  and 
up  in  Congress  was  a  Pennsylvania  Democrat  named 
Wilmot  proposing  to  pass  a  law  excluding  Slavery  from 
all  the  territory  which  the  war  might  bring !  Fire  and 
fury  breathed  from  the  letters  which  came  to  Valley  Hall 
when  that  news  reached  the  army. 

General  Quitman's  brigade  was  drawn  away  for  the 
new  expedition,  but  the  First  Mississippi  remained  with 
General  Taylor,  who,  with  his  forces  reduced  to  four  or 
five  thousand,  retired  to  Buena  Vista.  The  people  of 
Valley  Hall  had  come  to  consider  the  war  over,  as  far  as 
they  were  concerned,  and  Mrs.  Montague  had  grown 
cheerful  again,  when  one  ever  memorable  night  there  was 
a  galloping  up  the  road  and  excited  voices  down  below 
and  the  children  rushed  out  to  hear  the  tidings  of  another 
battle  between  Taylor's  little  force  and  twenty  thousand 
Mexicans  under  Santa  Anna  —  a  battle  in  which  the  latter 
had  been  routed,  and  in  which  Colonel  Davis's  regiment 
had  won  for  itself  everlasting  fame.  It  was  the  Natchez 
Courier  from  which  the  news  was  read,  and  it  said 
that  the  colonel  himself  had  been  shot  in  the  foot,  and 
Captain  Montague  —  terrible  to  think  of  —  "severely 
wounded!  " 

It  was  another  week  before  the  family  could  learn  the 
truth,  that  the  wound  was  a  shattered  knee-cap  which 
would  cripple  Henry  Montague  for  life.  Meanwhile  Allan 
spent  his  time  between  agonies  of  fear  and  bursts  of  exul- 
tation. What  a  story  it  was  !  The  one  paper  they  had 
was  worn  ragged — it  had  been  brought  a  day  ahead, 
and  neighbors  galloped  up  from  thirty  miles  to  see  it. 
Again  and  again  as  it  was  read  aloud  the  children  would 
listen  and  cry  out  with  joy,  and  laugh  and  hug  each  other 
breathless. 

The  general  and  Colonel  Davis  had  been  at  the  rear  ; 
when  they  reached  the  field  the  Americans  were  retreat- 


THE  MORNING  25 

ing.  Davis  had  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  his  regiment 
and  ordered  a  charge;  down  a  ravine  and  up  the  other 
side  they  went  —  double  quick  —  and  straight  into  the 
very  centre  of  the  Mexican  line.  Scarcely,  however,  had 
the  enemy  been  checked,  when  the  regiment  was  charged 
by  a  troop  of  lancers,  many  times  its  own  number.  The 
swift  action  of  the  colonel  at  that  moment  made  him  a 
Southern  hero.  He  ordered  his  famous  "  V-f ormation " 
along  the  edge  of  the  ravine  —  a  V  with  the  point  away 
from  the  enemy  instead  of  towards  him!  It  was  a  chal- 
lenge, and  it  was  accepted  ;  the  lancers  thundered  into  the 
gap,  and  with  one  volley  the  Mississippi  riflemen  strewed 
the  ground  with  them  and  turned  their  charge  into  a  wild 
retreat.  And  yet  even  that  had  not  been  enough;  when 
you  read  the  story  it  sounded  like  a  mediaeval  epic,  whose 
hero  gallops  here  and  there  about  the  field  and  conquers 
everywhere  he  goes.  Exhausted  and  depleted  as  the  regi- 
ment was,  with  half  its  officers  wounded,  it  had  turned 
to  another  part  of  the  ground,  where  Bragg's  battery  was 
defending  itself  against  an  overwhelming  force,  and  tak- 
ing its  foe  in  the  flank,  had  driven  him  back  and  saved 
the  day. 

General  Scott  began  his  famous  march  of  victory  —  and 
meanwhile  Mississippi  made  ready  to  receive  the  wounded 
heroes.  Hamilton  Montague  obtained  leave  to  escort  his 
brother,  and  by  slow  stages  they  brought  him  home,  pros- 
trate and  fearfully  wan,  but  out  of  danger.  The  Hall 
was  a  silent  place  for  long  afterwards ;  the  very  animals 
seemed  to  know  about  it,  and  the  children  went  far  off  to 
play.  By  the  time  that  the  invalid  was  able  to  be  helped 
about,  another  Christmas  had  come,  and  General  Scott  was 
in  Mexico  City,  and  Colonel  Davis  in  Washington  as 
senator  from  Mississippi,  the  highest  reward  that  his 
state  could  find  him.  General  —  soon  to  be  Governor  — 
Quitman,  of  fiery  fame,  was  also  there,  doing  his  best  to 
urge  a  caitiff  administration  to  hold  Mexico  forever,  now 
that  it  had  been  won.  Many  Mexicans,  even,  desired  this 
—  it  was  whispered  that  General  Scott  had  been  offered  a 


26  MANASSAS 

million  dollars  and  the  presidency  if  he  would  only  stay 
and  rule  them.  But  alas  —  there  was  no  doing  anything 
with  the  shopkeepers  at  the  North! 

It  was  a  sad  Christmas  at  the  plantation  —  it  was  as  if 
every  one  upon  it  had  lost  a  parent;  Grandfather  Montague 
was  dead.  The  children  had  knelt  by  the  bedside,  while 
the  aged  soul  went  away.  He  was  glad  to  go,  he  whis- 
pered ;  and  yet  there  was  a  time  before  the  end  when  the 
life-hunger  stared  in  his  eyes,  and  the  dread  that  burdened 
his  soul  and  would  not  let  him  die  fought  for  utterance. 
It  was  not  of  himself,  but  of  his  country,  that  he  spoke  in 
those  last  moments,  with  a  sweat  of  agony  standing 
upon  his  forehead  and  a  ghastly  panting  in  his  voice. 
He  spoke  to  both  children  and  grandchildren  alike,  for- 
getting all  differences  of  age  ;  he  was  bidding  farewell  to 
the  land  that  he  had  loved  so  long,  and  he  saw  it  threat- 
ened with  violence,  he  saw  the  hands  of  rash  men  lifted 
against  it,  and  he  was  sick  with  fear.  He  charged  them 
to  guard  it,  to  be  tender  with  it  —  to  love  it  more!  And 
he  sank  back  upon  his  pillow,  gasping,  battling  for  another 
word,  and  the  children,  watching  the  quivering  of  his 
hands  and  the  knotted  veins  throbbing  in  his  forehead, 
saw  to  their  horror  a  white  glaze  spread  over  his  eyeballs 
and  a  spasm  pass  across  his  face,  and  heard  a  scream  of 
terror  from  their  mother,  who  held  his  hand. 


CHAPTER   III 

PEACE  had  come  at  last,  but  no  peace  for  the  South.  A 
vast  territory  had  been  won  for  the  Union,  but  the  South 
had  to  fight  for  it  once  more,  and  in  the  halls  of  her  own 
Congress.  The  infamous  Wilmot  Proviso  hung  before 
her,  a  perpetual  menace;  the  hordes  of  Abolitionist  fanati- 
cism were  aroused,  and  no  one  could  say  what  they  might 
not  attempt.  Men  suspected  that  they  had  been  behind 
the  efforts  of  the  Mexican  peace  commissioner  to  have 
Slavery  excluded  by  treaty  from  the  new  lands ;  if  so,  they 
had  been  well  rebuked,  for  Mr.  Trist,  the  American  com- 
missioner, was  a  Virginian,  and  had  declared,  in  immortal 
language,  that  if  the  offer  had  been  "  of  the  territory 
increased  tenfold  in  value  and  covered  with  pure  gold  a 
foot  thick,"  he  would  not  have  accepted  it  upon  such  a 
condition. 

Senator  Davis  was  now  in  Washington,  vigilant  and 
vehement,  justified  by  events.  Grown  wiser  by  experience, 
and  following  the  lead  of  Calhoun,  he  was  now  boldly 
declaring  that  the  Constitution  gave  Congress  no  power 
to  exclude  slaveholders  from  their  rights  in  the  territo- 
ries. The  first  fight  was  over  the  bill  admitting  Oregon; 
the  Mississippi  senator  had  no  expectation  that  slaves 
would  ever  go  to  Oregon,  but  the  principle  was  at  stake. 
His  constituents  at  Valley  Hall  read  his  speeches,  and 
wondered  how  the  rest  of  the  world  could  continue,  as  it 
did,  unconvinced. 

The  year  1848  was  the  year  of  the  presidential  election, 
and  in  the  Democratic  conventions  the  same  battle  was 
fought,  by  William  Lowndes  Yancey  of  Alabama,  one  of 
the  heroes  of  the  cotton  states.  Yancey  denied  the  dan- 
gerous power  of  exclusion,  not  only  to  Congress,  but  to 
the  territorial  legislatures  as  well, —  a  distinction  with  a 
future  before  it.  Yancey  had  brought  the  doctrine  safely 

27 


28  MANASSAS 

through  in  his  home  state,  but  he  went  back  discomfited 
from  the  convention, — the  South  was  not  yet  awake  to  its 
peril.  The  Democratic  party  dodged  the  issue,  and 
Valley  Hall  gave  its  votes  to  its  own  hero  — General  Tay- 
lor—  who  was  a  candidate  without  a  platform,  but  a 
Southerner,  and  the  father-in-law  of  Senator  Davis  besides. 

And  still  another  year  passed  by.  At  home  and  abroad 
men  discussed  these  questions,  eagerly,  passionately,  and 
with  growing  impatience.  For  little  by  little  the  terrible 
fact  had  been  becoming  plain  to  the  South  that  the 
dreaded  Wilmot  Proviso,  which  the  Virginia  legislature 
has  vowed  it  would  "  resist  at  every  hazard  and  to  the  last 
extremity,"  —  that  though  it  had  been  dropped  in  Congress 
it  was  to  be  carried  out  in  the  territories  themselves. 
Gold  had  been  discovered  in  California,  and  instantly  there 
had  been  a  rush  the  like  of 'which  the  world  had  never 
seen  before.  One  year  the  place  had  been  a  wilderness, 
with  a  few  Mexican  villages;  the  next  it  was  a  community 
with  a  hundred  thousand  inhabitants  —  all  Abolitionists ! 

Congress  had  left  them  without  a  government,  and  they 
had  formed  one  for  themselves;  now  they  stood  asking  for 
admission  as  a  state,  and  with  a  constitution  prohibiting 
Slavery.  Miners  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  foreigners 
and  Yankees,  most  of  them,  owning  no  slaves  themselves 
and  wanting  no  slaves  to  compete  with  them,  they  pur- 
posed to  keep  the  South  out  of  the  gold-fields  which  the 
South  had  fought  for  and  paid  for.  The  issue  was  plain, 
and  public  sentiment  was  forming  quickly.  The  legisla- 
tures of  the  various  states  passed  resolutions  ;  in  Missis- 
sippi there  was  a  convention  in  the  fall,  and  a  call  was  out, 
engineered  from  behind  by  Calhoun,  for  a  convention  of 
the  Southern  states  to  meet  at  Nashville  in  the  spring. 

Congress  was  to  meet  in  December,  and  thither  all 
thoughts  were  turned.  The  hopes  of  the  South  in  Gen- 
eral Taylor  were  now  known  to  be  vain;  he  was  in  favor 
of  admitting  California,  and  had  come  to  regard  his  own 
son-in-law  as  little  better  than  a  traitor.  When  Congress 
met  it  took  three  weeks,  amid  altercations  leading  almost 
to  blows,  to  elect  a  speaker;  and  then  came  endless  speech- 


THE  MORNING  29 

making  and  hurling  of  defiance.  The  Wilmot  Proviso 
was  up  again,  and  one  Giddings  of  Ohio  was  resolving 
that  all  men  were  equal;  on  the  other  side,  Governor 
Troup,  of  Georgia,  was  proposing  that  his  state  should 
march  upon  Washington  and  dissolve  the  government. 
It  was  of  these  breathless  events  that  the  boy  Allan  was 
reading  one  morning  when  his  father  came  into  the  room, 
limping  upon  his  cane,  and  brought  him  to  his  feet  at  a 
bound  by  the  announcement,  "My  son,  we  are  going  to 
the  North." 

Allan  could  only  stare,  and  gasp  for  breath.  "  Sir  !  " 
he  managed  to  ejaculate. 

"  I  say  we  are  going  to  the  North,"  repeated  his  father. 

"  Who,  sir  ?  " 

"  You  and  I." 

Allan  had  had  visions  of  an  army.  "  For  what, 
father  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  We  are  going  to  Boston  to  live,"  was  the  reply  ;  and 
the  room  seemed  to  become  unsteady  to  the  boy. 

"I  have  not  said  anything  to  you  about  it,"  said  Captain 
Montague  ;  "  I  wished  to  wait  until  I  was  certain.  It  is 
my  health,  in  the  first  place ;  the  doctors  tell  me  that  1 
shall  never  get  perfectly  well  except  with  a  change  of 
climate.  Also  you  know,  my  son,  you  must  go  to  college, 
some  day." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  to  a  Yankee  college  !  "  cried  Allan. 

"  You  will  have  to  go  somewhere,"  said  his  father,  smil- 
ing. "  There  are  no  colleges  here.  Then,  too,  remember 
that  you  have  ansuncle  and  an  aunt  and  some  cousins  in 
Boston." 

"  Abolitionists  !  "  the  boy  ejaculated. 

"  I  hope  not,  my  son  ;  though  I  have  not  heard  any- 
thing much  about  them  since  your  Grandfather  Otis  died. 
—  Also  there  are  matters  of  business,  Allan,  which  fall  in 
with  the  plan.  Uncle  Hamilton  and  some  of  our  neigh- 
bors think  that  we  could  do  a  great  deal  better  if  we 
bought  our  supplies  by  wholesale  for  ourselves,  and  they 
want  me  to  consider  the  plan  of  finding  a  direct  market 
for  our  cotton.  Each  one  of  these  things  is  a  motive,  of 


30  MANASSAS 

course  ;  so  far  as  you  are  concerned,  it  is  that  you  are 
twelve,  and  that  you  ought  to  be  beginning  to  fit  for  col- 
lege." 

"  When  are  we  going  ?  "  asked  Allan. 

"  In  a  couple  of  weeks.  We  shall  travel  by  land,  and 
stop  for  a  while  in  Washington,  so  that  we  can  see  what  is 
going  on  there." 

Allan  looked  about  him,  dazed.  Never  before  in  his 
life  had  he  thought  that  he  might  ever  leave  Valley  Hall. 
"  Very  well,  father,"  he  said,  suppressing  a  great  gulp  ; 
"  I  should  like  to  go  North,  I  think." 

But  if  he  did,  why,  when  he  was  walking  away  a  few 
minutes  later  and  met  a  woolly-headed  and  ebony-hued 
little  darkey,  clad  in  the  cast-off  uniform  of  a  drummer- 
boy  of  the  First  Mississippi,  —  Jereboam  Anaximenes,  his 
own  particular  "  body  servant,"  —  why  did  he  fling  his 
arms  about  his  neck  and  burst  into  tears,  to  the  unutter- 
able consternation  of  Jereboam  Anaximenes  ? 


CHAPTER  IV 

IT  was  the  afternoon  of  the  22d  of  February,  1850,  and 
Valley  Hall  was  enormously  in  motion.  Had  you  looked 
down  upon  it  from  above,  you  might  have  supposed  that  a 
swarm  of  black  ants  had  settled  upon  it ;  there  were  not 
only  all  the  house  servants  of  the  Hall,  but  all  from  the 
Hopper  plantation,  and  from  the  Masons'  and  the  Hindses' 
as  well ;  dressed  in  their  finest,  and  superintended  by  Peri- 
cles, the  butler,  and  Taylor  Tibbs  in  full  red,  they  were 
flying  about  the  lawn  as  surely  never  had  servants  flown 
at  Valley  Hall  in  all  its  days  before. 

There  was,  to  begin  with,  a  little  platform,  and  around 
this  four  tables,  set  in  concentric  semicircles,  the  outside 
one  a  hundred  feet  around,  a  length  to  which  surely  no 
table  in  history  had  ever  approached  before.  Upon  them 
were  spread  snowy  cloths,  and  to  them  were  borne  endless 
loads  of  plates  and  glasses,  knives  and  forks,  until  to  the 
slowest  mind  it  must  have  been  clear  that  this  incredible 
spread  of  tables  was  for  a  feast. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  end  to  the  loads  they  were  to 
carry  —  great  vases  of  flowers,  and  huge  dishes  of  mysteri- 
ous cold  things,  all  carefully  covered,  and  each  with  a  little 
negro  to  keep  the  flies  away.  At  one  side  gangs  of  field- 
hands  were  bringing  load  after  load  of  firewood  —  great 
lengths  of  logs  —  and  placing  them  in  heaps  round  about. 
Yet  others  were  stringing  lanterns  from  the  trees,  and 
carrying  long  benches  from  some  hidden  place  of  storage 
behind  the  house. 

Amidst  all  this  the  children  flew  here  and  there,  breath- 
less with  excitement ;  yet  at  times  one  of  them,  Allan, 
would  stop  and  gaze  about  him,  and  a  mist  would  come 
over  his  eyes.  Back  there  by  the  stables  was  Taylor  Tibbs, 
Jr. ,  washing  off  the  family  coach ;  and  when  all  this  feast 
was  eaten,  and  all  these  fires  were  dead,  Allan  was  to  be 

31 


32  MANASSAS 

borne  away  —  away  from  Valley  Hall  —  for  what  time,  and 
to  what  future,  who  could  tell  him  ? 

There  were  a  few  of  the  early  guests  upon  the  veran- 
das, ladies  and  gentlemen,  chatting  and  watching  the  busy 
scene.  Among  them  there  was  one  who  had  been  pointed 
out  to  the  boys,  Mr.  Yancey,  the  famous  orator ;  they  eyed 
him  furtively,  but  wonderingly.  He  was  something  of  a 
disappointment,  if  the  truth  be  told,  a  quietly  dressed, 
plain-looking  man  of  short  stature,  speaking  politely  when 
spoken  to,  but  for  the  most  part  silent,  with  tightly  pressed 
lips,  and  a  rather  sullen  expression  of  face.  He  strolled 
away  when  unobserved,  and  Allan  saw  him  pacing  up 
and  down  beyond  the  shrubbery,  his  hands  behind  him, 
and  his  head  bowed.  Allan  privately  made  bets  on  his 
father,  not  understanding  just  why  it  was  necessary  to 
send  out  of  Mississippi  for  some  one  to  make  a  speech  at  a 
barbecue. 

Now  the  sun  began  to  drop  and  the  guests  to  arrive, 
some  of  them  having  ridden  all  day  ;  the  tables  by  that 
time  were  quite  covered  with  mysteries,  and  there  hung 
between  great  poles  near  the  fires  a  whole  ox,  a  sheep,  and 
quite  a  string  of  turkeys.  When  the  twilight  had  fairly 
come,  the  lawns  and  verandas  were  alive  with  throngs  of 
people  —  a  thousand,  you  would  have  said.  The  lanterns 
were  all  lighted,  and  soon  the  fires  began  to  crackle  and 
then  to  blaze ;  before  long  the  merry  scene  was  as  bright 
as  day,  and  the  scent  of  the  roasting  meat  filled  the  air. 
Somewhere  in  the  distance  a  negro  quartet  was  singing, 
and  above  all  the  laughter  and  excitement  you  heard  now 
and  then  the  strains  of  an  old  camp-meeting  melody,  de- 
claring with  many  repetitions,  that  — 

"  My  poor  body  lies  a-mouldering  in  the  clay, 
But  my  soul  goes  marching  on  !  " 

It  was  perhaps  an  hour  before  the  great  repast  was 
ready  and  the  word  went  round,  "  To  the  tables  !  "  From 
the  "Great  House"  came  streaming  a  line  of  waiters,  bear- 
ing smoking  dishes  aloft ;  and  stretched  out  upon  a  table 


THE  MORNING  33 

lay  the  huge  ox,  his  legs  in  the  air.  A  dozen  carvers  fell 
upon  him,  and  in  a  twinkling,  as  it  seemed,  he  was  on 
everybody's  plate. 

So,  with  endless  laughter,  and  joking,  and  calling  aloud, 
and  flying  about  of  waiters,  the  meal  went  forward.  Tow- 
ard the  end  you  saw,  at  each  table,  a  huge  bowl  of  punch 
brewing ;  and  one  by  one  the  diners  laid  down  their  knives 
and  forks,  and  the  waiters  whisked  their  plates  away  — 
and  every  one  settled  back  and  prepared  for  the  real 
feast  of  the  evening  —  shouted  for  it,  too,  insistently  : 
"  Speech  !  Speech  !  " 

At  last  there  rose  up  Hamilton  Montague,  the  host  (his 
departing  brother  was  considered  as  the  guest  of  honor). 
With  much  laughter  and  bantering,  —  every  one  there  was 
an  intimate  friend,  —  with  charming  ease  and  good  humor, 
he  bade  them  all  welcome,  and  retorted  to  all  their  inter- 
ruptions, and  told  stories  and  made  esoteric  allusions  to 
local  affairs  —  and,  in  short^  was  delightful  without  end. 
Everybody  in  Mississippi  could  make  a  speech  in  those 
days ;  these  people  had  no  theatres,  and  no  concerts,  and 
almost  no  books  —  they  had  speeches. 

But  toward  the  end  the  orator  grew  serious.  The  scene 
was  beautiful,  the  punch  was  inimitable,  for  it  was  made 
by  his  own  recipe ;  but  out  in  the  darkness  beyond  were 
things  of  which  one  dreaded  to  think  —  behind  every 
happy  face  that  he  saw  he  knew  lurked  a  hidden  alarm. 
One  might  go  on  hiding  it,  if  he  chose,  but  wisdom  cried 
out  against  such  a  course  ;  in  short,  there  was  the  peril  of 
the  South,  and  here  was  the  master  spirit  to  point  the  way. 
He  had  taken  a  long  journey ;  he  was  awaited  with  breath- 
less interest ;  they  were  at  his  disposal  for  as  long  as  he 
would  speak  to  them :  the  orator  of  the  evening  and  the 
orator  of  the  South  —  Mr.  William  Lowndes  Yancey  ! 

And  the  quiet  man  whom  Allan  had  been  eying  came 
out  upon  the  platform  slowly,  waited  patiently  until  the 
furious  applauding  ceased,  gazing  about  him  in  the  mean- 
time and  taking  in  his  audience.  Crowds  of  the  uninvited, 
mingled  with  the  negroes,  now  formed  a  ring  in  the  dis- 
tance, pressing  closer  in  toward  the  firelight  all  the  time. 


34  MANASSAS 

Then  slowly,  very  quietly  and  distinctly,  he  began,  and 
men  sat  forward  suddenly  —  the  voice,  0A,  what  a  voice ! 
Clear  and  vibrant  and  mellow,  it  seized  you  like  the  note 
of  a  violin ;  it  penetrated  to  hidden  depths  of  your  soul, 
it  sent  tremblings  down  into  your  very  linger  ends.  This 
quiet  man,  standing  there  without  a  gesture  or  a  motion, 
he  took  hold  of  your  very  self,  and  where  he  chose  to 
go,  you  went  with  him. 

It  was  to  lay  bare  the  secret  workings  of  the  universe, 
to  uncover  the  hidden  machinery  of  events.  Here  at  last 
was  some  one  who  had  thought,  whose  keen  mind  had 
gone  back  of  all  appearances,  and  with  Godlike  certainty 
could  unfold  the  causes  of  things.  You  saw  as  never  had 
you  seen  before  —  everything  which  had  seemed  obscure 
was  clear  on  the  instant  —  not  only  the  past,  but  the  dark 
and  silent  future.  Into  its  sphinxlike  and  inscrutable 
face  you  had  gazed  so  long  —  but  now  suddenly  it  was 
become  full  of  meaning ! 

And  what  a  future  it  was;  how  suddenly  the  sight 
of  it  filled  you  with  horror,  so  that  you  dug  your  nails 
into  your  hands!  How  suddenly  you  hated  it,  what 
desperate  revolt  against  it  leaped  up  within  you  —  how 
madly  you  flung  away  comfort  and  ease  —  yea,  life  itself, 
and  rushed  forth  to  battle  with  this  iniquity !  What 
shame  seized  you  that  you  had  been  sitting  here  at  a 
feast,  while  such  things  as  this  went  on  in  the  world ! 

You'  saw"two  civilizations:  one  of  them  of  white  men 
who  worked  —  farmers,  mechanics,  sailors ;  the  other  of 
gentlemen  who  did  not  work,  but  who  owned  slaves  and 
tilled  the  soil.  These  two  civilizations, 'having  each  had 
a  vast  room  to  grow  in,  had  lived  comfortably  side  by 
side  for  two  generations ;  but  now,  behold,  each  of  them 
has  filled  its  own  limits,  and  suddenly  —  they  touch ! 
Will  as  you  choose,  struggle  as  you  may,  you  cannot  help 
this  fact,  that  between  those  two  civilizations  there  is 
irrevocable  and  deadly  war!  There  is  no  policy  which 
they  can  find  that  will  be  common  —  what  is  the  life  of 
one  is  the  other's  death.  One  is  agricultural,  the  other 
industrial;  one  desires  land,  the  other  trade;  one  grows 


THE  MOBNING       .  35 

by  conquest,  the  other  by  settling;  one  is  conservative, 
the  'other  endlessly  radical/  And  therefore  the  instant 
these  two  forces  meet  within  the  government,  you  see 
them  grapple ;  and  there  is  a  struggle  —  sharp,  quick  — 
and  one  of  them  goes  down.  When  it  is  down,  mark 
this,  down  it  stays.  There  is  no  second  chance,  the 
victor's  heel  is  upon  you.  Thereafter  the  policy  of  the 
government  is  the  master's  policy,  and  one  which  cuts, 
sinew  by  sinew,  the  power  of  the  other  party. 

"  Men  of  the  South !  Men  of  the  South !  "  The  orator 
was  no  longer  quiet  and  formal  —  a  fire  blazed  in  his 
countenance,  passion  streamed  from  his  aspect,  leaped  in 
his  ringing  words.  "  Men  of  the  South,  hear  me  !  "  He 
raised  his  clenched  hand  aloft,  and  the  audience  strained 
forward,  breathless,  suffering.  "  That  instant  is  come 
upon  you- — you  face  it  now!  That  instant  is  going  — 
you  know  not  when  it  may  be  gone !  " 

He  paused,  and  you  heard  men  gasp  for  breath ;  then 
again  his  voice  dropped,  and  they  sank  back  in  their  seats 
with  relief.  Again  in  his  quiet,  simple  manner  he  went 
on  to  show  the  reason  of  things.  Here  was  a  people  with 
a  vast  territory,  more  fertile  than  any  in  the  world,  own- 
ing a  natural  monopoly,  cotton,  and  having  the  world 
in  their  hands.  And  of  course  they  were  enormously 
wealthy;  oh,  yes,  but  where  was  the  wealth,  where  was 
the  wealth  of  the  man  who  sat  here  to-night?  He  had 
land  and  labor,  of  course ;  but  these  were  only  the  tools 
of  wealth ;  and  new  land  when  the  old  was  worn  out,  and 
new  labor  also,  these  he  had.  But  the  profits  —  where 
were  the  profits  ?  Why,  once  a  year  he  went  to  New 
Orleans  and  spent  all  he  owned  for  the  necessaries  of  life, 
which  came,  pray,  from  where  ?  From  the  North  !^  He 
could  not  get  them  from  where  they  were  cheajfesT —  he 
must  get  them  from  the  North !  There  was  a  tariff  de- 
vised for  that  express  purpose  —  "to  encourage  domestic 
industries"  —  at  the  North!  What  had  the  South  to 
do  with  industries  ?  The  South  had  no  industries,  had 
nobody  who  knew  anything  about  industries  thank  God ! 
But  it  must  put  its  hands  into  its  pockets  and  pay  double 


36  MANASSAS 

prices  for  everything,  to  encourage  the  industries  at  the 
North  \  And  the  Northern  papers  marvelled  at  the  pros- 
perity of  the  country,  and  at  the  emigrants  which  the 
prosperity  brought  from  Europe  in  streams  —  all  to  engage 
in  industries,  encouraged  by  the  South ! 

No  mere  man  could  ever  have  imagined  such  sarcasm 
as  this ;  the  orator  was  no  longer  human,  he  was  a  god, 
come  down  from  the  skies,  with  sovereign  gesture  to  tear 
off  the  veil  from  the  hypocrisies  of  men.  How  deeply 
must  the  North  despise  this  people,  to  mock  at  them 
for  the  same  ills  it  caused  them  !  He,  the  orator, 
had  resigned  from  Congress  because  he  would  not  bear 
what  his  colleagues  seemed  to  bear  quite  in  course,  —  to 
be  discussed  as  a  half-barbarous  survival  of  a  dark  age, 
to  be  forever  fronted  with  tables  of  statistics  to  prove 
your  inferiority  to  some  one  else !  There  were  more  col- 
leges and  books  and  churches  at  the  North ;  colleges  and 
books  and  churches  would  seem  to  be  among  the  indus- 
tries that  the  South  had  encouraged !  What  pride  must 
throb  in  the  bosom  of  a  Southern  planter  as  he  realized 
what  a  success  he  had  achieved  —  that  the  industries  he 
had  encouraged  were  grown  actually  courageous  enough 
to  strike  down  the  hand  that  fed  them ! 

Look  again!  For  a  generation  you  have  encouraged 
industries,  and  brought  millions  of  foreigners  to  serve 
the  North,  until  the  country  is  crowded  beyond  even  the 
power  of  your  purse.  And  what  has  happened  ?  You, 
the  South,  need  more  territory,  and  wage  a  war.  It 
costs  ninety  million  dollars ;  you,  the  importing  states, 
pay  sixty  of  them.  You  pay,  also,  private  treasure  —  and 
you  pay  your  blood.  The  North  does  not  want  war, 
scorns  you  and  jeers  at  you  while  you  wage  it;  but  now 
that  it  is  won,  here  is  the  land,  and  the  North  does 
want  the  land  !  You  say  they  shall  not  have  it  —  pshaw  ! 
you  are  fools,  they  have  it  already,  before  you  have  got 
your  eyes  open.  Here  is  this  swarming  population  which 
you  have  "  encouraged  " ;  it  has  walked  across  a  conti- 
nent, it  has  sailed  through  two  oceans  —  God  help  you, 
it  has  even  flown  through  the  air,  it  would  seem.  At  any 


THE   MORNING  37 

rate,  there  it  is !  And  it  votes  you  out !  You,  arid  your 
slaves  and  your  civilization  —  it  votes  you  out !  And  it 
gazes  at  you  with  bland  innocence,  and  asks  you  if  it  is 
not  all  perfectly  fair  and  regular. 

Then,  too,  when  you  object.  "It  is  only  one  state," 
the  North  tells  you.  Yes,  but  see,  they  have  been 
incautious  and  shown  their  plan  too  soon.  Here  is  a 
vast  territory  still  at  stake,  and  they  propose  a  law  to 
keep  you  out  of  that  too  !  They  could  not  pass  the  law, 
for  it  happened  that  you  were  still  their  equal  in  the 
Senate.  But  give  them  one  state  more  —  and  they  have 
the  Senate  ! 

At  this  time  the  so-called  Compromise  measures  of 
Senator  Clay  were  before  the  country  ;  the  orator  shook 
them  into  rags.  The  North  cried  out  at  them  —  but  the 
North  would  come  around,  never  fear  !  They  got  Cali- 
fornia ;  what  else  mattered  ?  They  proposed  to  give 
the  South  a  Fugitive-slave  bill  —  a  bill  they  would  repeal 
when  they  chose,  and  which  meantime  they  would  never 
enforce.  But  granting  that  they  would,  the  South 
might  recover  a  hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  prop- 
erty thereby;  in  exchange  for  it  they  would  give  a  state 
worth  uncounted  millions  !  If  Slavery  were  allowed  in 
California  to-day,  negroes  would  sell  in  the  New  Orleans 
market  for  five  thousand  dollars  apiece;  they 'gave  up 
that  !  They  gave  up  their  supremacy  in  the  nation  — 
they  gave  up  the  fight ! 

This  man  played  upon  his  audience  as  a  musician  plays 
upon  an  organ  :  always  controlled,  always  masterful,  with 
perfectly  turned  and  finished  sentences,  with  few  gestures 
and  naught  but  the  witchery  of  his  marvellous  voice,  he 
swept  them  through  the  whole  gamut  of  emotions  — terror, 
rage,  defiance,  tears.  He  pictured  the  indignities  to  which 
they  were  subjected  —  he  beat  them  up  as  the  tempest 
beats  the  ocean  ;  he  seized  the  leaping  waves  of  their 
resolve  and  swept  them  seething  onward  to  defiance  and 
to  war.  He  found  a  chord  that  echoed  to  the  very 
depths  of  their  souls,  and  he  hammered  without  end  upon 


38  MANASSAS 

it  —  the  stigma  of  inferiority  that  men  set  upon  them. 
44  Infamous  !  Infamous  !  Infamous  !  "  he  cried,  until 
they  laughed  aloud  in  furious  scorn.  He  showed  them 
the  power  that  was  closing  round  them  until  they  felt  its 
grip  upon  their  throats,  and  you  saw  before  you  men  with 
white  lips  and  battle  faces.  He  called  aloud  upon  the 
spirits  of  their  fathers,  the  men  who  had  hurled  back 
the  British  from  their  shores,  and  ghostly  presences  trem- 
bled above  the  scene,  and  the  souls  of  men  were  loosed  with 
awe,  and  shaken  with  consecrations. 

44  To  realize  instantly  the  peril,"  was  his  cry,  44  to  gird 
yourselves  for  the  battle  —  on  the  brink  of  the  precipice 
to  make  your  stand  !  To  reply  to  Northern  aggressions 
with  an  instant  leap!  To  make  them  understand  that 
the  first  move  which  tends  to  destroy  your  equality  in  this 
nation  —  no  matter  how  they  may  justify  it,  no  matter 
how  they  disguise  it  —  is  the  signal  for  the  ending  of  the 
compact  and  the  forcible  withdrawal  of  the  South.  You 
say  that  you  can  wait  and  secede  at  any  time  —  but  you 
cannot !  Every  day  you  are  in  the  Union  it  becomes 
more  difficult,  every  day  the  power  that  is  feeding  upon  your 
strength  will  be  stronger  and  more  loath  to  let  you  go  ! 

44  Not  then,  but  now  !  The  future  calls,  a  future  of 
success  without  an  end.  Standing  alone,  and  alert  to 
your  own  interests,  what  happens  at  the  North  need 
trouble  you  no  more.  South  of  you  is  endless  empire  ; 
you  have  conquered  it  once,  you  can  conquer  it  again. 
There  is  Cuba,  there  is  Central  America,  there  is  another 
continent  beyond  —  nowhere  is  there  a  people  able  to 
withstand  for  one  instant  the  march  of  your  imperial 
power  !  " 

And  drunk  with  this  vision,  the  orator's  soul  rose  up 
within  him  ;  yistas  unrolled  before  him,  and  the  least  man 
there  felt  his  heart  leap  madly,  and  marvelled  to  discover 
the  mighty  being  he  was.  The  orator,  carried  away  him- 
self, turned  suddenly,  and  with  arms  outstretched  and 
voice  breaking  with  emotion,  cried  out  to  her  who  was  the 
queen  of  these  adventurings,  the  muse  of  their  devotion, 
—  the  South,  the  South  !  Suddenly,  miraculously,  she 


THE   MORNING  39 

rose  before  them  —  born  of  the  starlight  and  celestial  splen- 
dors —  radiant  with  the  hues  of  morning,  singing  in  her 
loveliness,  she  came,  she  came  !  She  came  with  trem- 
blings and  quiverings,  with  choirings  and  harpings  of  the 
universe  of  things,  with  fairy  footsteps  to  dance  her  joy, 
and  breaking  showers  of  light  upon  her  pathway.  To 
her  men  fled  with  bosom  swelling,  and  with  arms  out- 
stretched —  the  touch  of  her  robe  was  madness,  her  beauty 
was  not  to  be  borne.  Queen  of  their  lives  was  she,  mis- 
tress of  their  souls  was  she,  muse  and  goddess  of  the 
fair  South-land  ! 

"  Oh,  take  us  to  thy  heart,  for  thy  slaves  we  are  ! 
Bound  to  thee  with  chains  of  fire,  by  the  joys  of  our 
childhood,  by  the  ardors  of  our  youth,  by  the  stern,  sad 
vision  of  our  later  years,  we  pledge  our  faith  to  thee  ! 
The  devotion  of  our  mothers  is  of  thy  giving,  the  good- 
ness of  our  sisters,  the  sanctity  of  our  loves  !  The  glory 
of  our  springtides,  the  fulness  of  our  summers,  the  splen- 
dors of  our  mornings,  the  stillness  of  our  nights,  are  all  of 
thee  !  To  thee  our  labors  in  peace,  our  courage  in  battle  ! 
For  thee  we  live,  for  thee  we  should  die  with  a  song  ! 
Take  us  to  thy  heart,  as  we  come  to  thee,  O  spirit  of  the 
fair  South-land  !  " 

The  orator  had  ceased  ;  but  the  tempests  of  emotion  he 
had  loosed  raged  still  about  the  place  ;  a  thousand  echoes 
still  rang,  a  thousand  presences  still  lingered ;  and  the 
audience  sat  rapt :  men  with  clenched  hands  numb  and 
burning,  with  faces  uplifted  and  tears  coursing  down  their 
cheeks,  or  buried  in  their  arms  and  shaken  with  gusts  of 
weeping.  In  the  hour  of  that  fearful  consecration  all  men 
were  brothers  —  old  and  young  —  black  and  white  ;  and 
graybeards  sobbed  on  each  other's  shoulders,  and  youths 
rushed  away  into  the  darkness  with  hands  clasped  to  their 
temples  —  for  these  things  are  painful  to  be  borne. 

But  then  suddenly  one  came  to,  and  seeing  the  orator, 
with  hands  dropped  and  his  head  bowed,  leaped  to  his 
feet  and  cried  out ;  and  at  once  the  flood-gates  opened, 
and  men  delivered  themselves  by  shouts  and  exclamations. 


40  MANASSAS 

When  he  came  down  from  the  platform  they  surged  round 
him,  wringing  his  hands  and  making  incoherent  protesta- 
tions of  gratitude. 

But  to  one  — the  boy  Allan  —  such  an  act  was  unthink- 
able ;  he  stood  apart,  clasping  his  hands  together  and  talk- 
ing wildly  to  himself.  He  would  as  soon  have  stretched 
out  his  hands  to  the  burning  bush  from  which  God  spoke, 
as  to  that  most  miraculous,  most  awful  man.  When  the 
storm  began  to  subside,  and  men  to  become  themselves 
again,  unable  to  bear  the  profanation,  he  rushed  away ; 
he  heard  not  his  own  father's  beautiful  farewell,  but  lay 
with  arms  stretched  out  upon  the  ground,  pledging  with 
tears  of  fire  his  love,  his  worship,  his  life,  to  her  who  in 
that  wondrous  hour  had  laid  her  hands  upon  him.  The 
camp-fires  were  dying  and  the  moon  was  up  ;  it  was  time 
to  start  and  the  coach  was  at  the  door,  before  the  boy 
leaped  to  his  feet  and  realized  that  men  were  shouting  his 
name  all  over  the  place. 

And  so,  half  dazed,  he  came  out.  The  guests  were 
crowded  upon  the  veranda,  and  the  equipage  stood  ready. 
He  glanced  about  wildly  —  his  last  glance  at  Valley  Hall ! 
To  his  father's  inquiries  he  replied  he  knew  not  what ;  he 
felt  himself  crowded  about  and  embraced  by  the  family 
and  by  the  sobbing  negroes,  and  then  he  was  lifted  into 
the  coach.  It  started  suddenly,  amid  deafening  cheers. 
As  the  sound  receded,  he  burst  into  tears  upon  his  father's 
shoulder. 

It  was  only  for  a  moment  that  he  ceased  —  as  they 
crossed  the  creek,  and  reached  the  top  of  the  slope,  and 
his  father  whispered  suddenly,  "  Hush  ! "  From  the  rear 
there  came  faint  strains  of  singing,  the  old  plantation's 
last  pleading  farewell :  — 

"  Away !  away  ! 
Away  down  South  in  Dixie  1 " 


When  morning  dawned  they  were  on  a  steamer  for  New 
Orleans,  arid  while  on  board  Allan  chanced  to  open  his 


THE   MOKNING  41 

little  trunk,  in  the  top  of  which  he  found  a  carefully  tied 
package  with  a  note,  in  a  slow,  painful  hand  :  — 

"  Dear  Allan,  —  I  give  you  my  hunting  nife.  I  want 
you  to  keep  it  til  you  come  across  an  abbleitionist.  then 
you  will  know  what  to  do  !  Granfather  said  to  die  for  our 
country,  but  1  doutt  if  they  would  dare  to  hang  a  man  for 
kiling  an  abbleitionist. 

"'Dolph." 


CHAPTER  V 

IN  those  days  the  traveller  from  the  Southwest  to  Wash- 
ington  had  choice  of  two  land  routes.  He  might  go  by 
way  of  the  Mississippi  and  the  Ohio,  and  over  the  moun- 
tains by  stage  from  Wheeling  to  Pittsburg,  reaching 
Washington  after  two  or  three  weeks;  or  else  he  might 
take,  as  did  Captain  Montague,  what  was  called  the 
"Southern  route,"  by  way  of  Mobile  and  the  Alabama 
River,  and  thence  over  the  new  railroad  into  Georgia, 
where  stages  connected  with  another  road  to  Charleston. 
By  this  route  it  took  five  days  of  steady  travel,  without 
sleeping-cars  or  berths,  and  with  only  five-minute  stops 
for  meals. 

But  it  was  Allan's  first  experience  from  home,  and  to 
him  it  was  a  panorama  of  delight :  the  great  city  with  its 
endless  rows  of  buildings  and  of  ships ;  the  blue  waters  of 
the  Gulf,  and  the  great  silent  river,  with  its  high  banks ; 
the  magical  railroad,  piercing  deep  forests  and  spanning 
great  stretches  of  cane-brake  and  swamp ;  and  the  long 
stage  route  through  the  high  pine  lands  of  Georgia,  where 
the  coach  was  forever  toiling  in  deep  white  sand,  or  thump- 
ing over  corduroy  roads,  and  sticking  fast  and  turning 
out  its  passengers  to  pry  it  up  with  fence  rails.  Here 
the  waste  lands  were  covered  with  broom-sedge,  and  one 
passed  endless  successions  of  tumble-down  shanties  having 
broken  windows  patched  with  paper,  and  perhaps  a  lank 
and  yellow  man  leaning  on  his  gun,  and  a  lank  and  yellow 
woman  smoking  a  pipe  in  the  doorway,  with  half  a  dozen 
white  and  black  children  peering  from  behind  her  skirts. 
Now  and  then  came  a  town,  with  straggling  whitewashed 
houses,  and  perhaps  a  court-house,  with  some  negroes  doz- 
ing upon  its  sunny  side,  or  sitting  upon  the  fences,  sound 
asleep.  Here  the  road  would  be  good,  and  the  driver 

42 


THE  MORNING  43 

would  take  out  his  quid  and  whoop  to  the  horses  and 
crack  his  whip  and  make  a  show. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  night  that  they  came  to  the 
second  railroad;  a  gang  was  working  upon  it  by  the  light 
of  the  great  camp-fires,  in  the  midst  of  an  unbroken  forest. 
The  passengers  had  to  walk  down  the  track  to  where 
the  locomotive  stood  puffing,  the  trainmen  calling  "All 
aboard, ' '  though  it  was  nearly  an  hour  before  they  started 
after  all.  In  the  morning  there  were  the  cotton  lands 
and  the  rice  swamps  of  South  Carolina  and  aristocratic 
Charleston.  Then  came  another  sea  trip  and  another  rail- 
road, and  at  last  the  long  bridge  across  the  Potomac,  and, 
in  the  distance,  the  dome  of  the  half-finished  Capitol. 

So  much  had  Allan  heard  of  Washington,  so  many 
times  had  he  dreamed  of  its  marvels,  that  it  was  scarcely 
possible  that  he  should  not  be  disappointed.  A  place 
where  such  great  deeds  were  done,  where  even  now,  to- 
day, the  fate  of  the  nation  was  being  decided;  and  here 
the  same  loungers  at  the  depot,  and  the  same  negroes 
in  the  sun,  and  the  same  unspeakable  roads  and  ram- 
shackle turnouts  to  traverse  them!  The  carriage  which 
bore  Allan  and  his  father  was  engineered  by  an  old 
tattered  darkey  who  wore  a  high  hat  without  a  top,  and 
had  patched  out  his  harness  with  old  rope  and  rawhide, 
and  had  made  a  bit  out  of  telegraph-wire. 

The  Washington  of  to-day  would  start  if  it  could  see 
itself  as  it  was  fifty  years  ago — a  city  without  the  citizens, 
a  combination  of  huge  marble  piles  and  negro  shanties. 
Its  streets  had  no  sidewalks,  and  an  unwary  pedestrian 
might  get  up  to  his  waist  in  ooze  while  trying  to  cross 
them.  Pigs  ran  about  them,  serving  as  scavengers,  and 
cows  kept  down  its  vegetation;  a  senator  or  a  diplomatic 
representative  would  have  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  a  citi- 
zen who  sat  on  his  doorstep  in  his  shirt-sleeves  doing  his 
milking. 

The  travellers  spent  three  weeks  in  Washington,  stop- 
ping at  the  boarding-house  where  the  Southern  statesmen 
had  their  "mess,"  and  where  Allan  'met  all  the  giants 
of  his  dreams.  Their  own  Davis  was  here,  tortured  with 


44  MANASSAS 

his  wounded  foot,  but  stately  and  grave  as  ever;  the  sena- 
tor's face  was  become  spare  and  thin  with  suffering,  and 
with  his  high  cheek-bones  and  prominent  nose  his  look 
was  more  keen  and  imperious  than  ever.,  Here,  too,  was 
Toombs,  the  lion-hearted,  a  wild  Georgia  man,  full-blooded, 
passionate,  and  terrible  in  debate.  Toombs  was  wont  to 
shake  his  black  locks  when  he  was  angry,  so  that  his  ad- 
mirers compared  him  with  Danton;  but  when  he  sat  at 
the  table  he  was  the  soul  of  the  party,  and  his  laugh  was 
like  a  drink  of  wine.  Toombs  was  one  of  those  old- 
fashioned  American  heroes  whose  joy  it  was  to  have  their 
pictures  taken  with  their  vests  unbuttoned  and  expansive 
clean  shirt-fronts  showing;  only  one  reads  in  Toomb's 
faithful  biographer  that  his  was  not  clean,  being  stained 
with  tobacco  juice,  at  least  on  that  occasion  when  he  rode 
over  the  border  into  South  Carolina  to  confound  an  op- 
ponent with  the  torrents  of  his  inspiration.  "Genius  sat 
upon  his  brow/'  so  the  chronicler  avows,  "and  his  eyes 
were  black  as  death,  and  bigger  than  an  ox's."  Toombs 
was  a  hero  among  strict  constructionists — gnats  or  camels, 
it  was  all  the  same  to  him.  He  saw  no  more  reason  why 
the  government  should  carry  his  mail  than  why  it  should 
carry  his -cotton;  and  he  denied  its  power  to  construct  an 
Atlantic  cable,  the  founders  having  failed  to  provide  for 
it!  In  later  years  it  was  Toombs  who  was  to  startle  the 
land  with  his  famous  "door-sill"  speech,  crying  out  to  his 
constituents  in  Georgia  that  the  foe  was  on  the  way,  and 
that  they  must  meet  him  at  that  portion  of  their  domiciles. 
Here,  too,  was  Alexander  Stephens,  gentle  and  lovable, 
Jonathan  to  this  David;  a  man  of  such  a  tiny  figure  that 
he  was  forever  taken  for  a  boy — with  huge  head,  and  skin 
wrinkled  and  drawn  like  a  mummy's.  Congress  had  mar- 
velled when  he  came,  hearing  upon  its  floor  the  high,  shrill 
voice  of  a  child.  The  life  of  Stephens  was  one  long 
struggle  with  death,  and  yet  many  held  him  the  leader 
in  the  House  of  the  Southern  forces  in  this  battle.  Here, 
too,  was  Houston,  of  deathless  fame,  whose  career  had  be- 
gun when  as  a  youth  in  the  Creek  War  he  had  gotten  him- 
self transfixed  with  an  arrow,  and  in  that  state  led  a  charge 


THE  MORNING  45 

over  the  enemy 's  defences.  It  was  Houston  who  had 
whirled  the  Mexicans  out  of  Texas,  and  was  now  repre- 
senting his  state,  clad  in  a  catamount-skin  waistcoat,  osten- 
tatiously displayed,  and  alternated  with  another  of  scarlet 
silk. 

There  were  truly  giants  in  those  days!  Their  second 
day  in  Washington  the  father  and  son  went,  silent  with 
awe,  to  the  Ipenate-chamber,  to  hear  the  last  dying  words 
of  the  ancient  hero  of  the  South.  The  aged  man  crept  in, 
half  carried  by  his  friends,  haggard  and  pale  and  ghastly, 
his  long  cloak  wrapped  about  him.  He  could  scarcely 
speak,  himself;  a  friend  read  his  speech  while  he  sat 
with  half-closed  eyes.  Sometimes,  however,  at  a  stirring 
passage,  he  would  open  them,  and  they  would  glare  like 
coals.  Terrible  it  was  to  see  him  thus  pleading  dumbly, 
with  agony,  to  a  heedless  world.  To  the  boy  he  seemed 
more  than  human — a  mighty  magician  weaving  spells,  or 
(for  such  was  his  strange  drawn  face,  with  the  ring  of 
bushy  white  hair,  and  the  shrunken  figure)  a  huge  spider 
spinning  a  web  of  fate.  He,  Calhoun,  had  marvellously 
foreseen  the  present;  twenty  years  before  he  had  foretold 
it  all,  and  the  course  of  history  for  a  generation  to  come 
as  well.  But  men  laughed  at  him  still — it  is  not  per- 
mitted to  a  public  man  to  see  too  far  beyond  his  nose. 

In  his  speech  he  showed  what  Yancey,  too,  had  argued, 
but  in  cold  figures, — the  consequences  of  Northern  en- 
croachments upon  the  South.  He  pleaded  that  these 
things  should  cease,  proposing  as  a  remedy  that  there 
should  be  two  presidents,  one  from  each  section.  "He 
is  old,"  said  Davis,  grimly;  "that  is  as  near  secession  as 
he  dares. ' '  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  the  aged  teacher 
had  shrunk  thus  behind  his  bolder  pupils. 

Twenty  years  before  this  man  and  another  mighty  hero 
had  fought  a  battle  of  ideas  in  the  Senate ;  and  for  twenty 
years  you  might  say  that  orators  and'  editors  had  been  doing 
little  more  than  hammering  their  arguments  into  the  public 
mind.  Now  the  armies  they  had  raised  up  stood  facing 
each  other,  and  all  men  awaited  breathlessly  the  issue. 

Daniel  Webster  was  to  speak  three  days  later,  on  the 


46  MANASSAS 

seventh  of  March  —  Daniel  Webster,  of  Massachusetts, 
champion  of  Federal  supremacy  and  of  the  antislavery 
hosts.  But  a  short  time  ago  he  had  claimed  the  Wilmot 
Proviso  as  his  "thunder";  and  now,  though  no  man 
had  any  inkling  of  what  his  speech  was  to  be,  Captain 
Montague  and  his  friends  awaited  eagerly  a  tirade  which 
should  send  the  sham  "compromises"  into  the  limbo  of  all 
shams. 

But  there  were  factors  which  these  Southerners  had 
failed  to  consider.  Perhaps  it  was  really  that  the  great 
man  was  stricken  with  fear  at  the  result  of  his  own  course, 
and  was  trembling  for  his  beloved  Union;  or  perhaps  it 
was  as  the  cynics  sneered — that  two  years  ahead  was  an- 
other presidential  nomination,  and  that  again  he  was  cring- 
ing and  plotting  for  the  votes.  Quite  a  task  will  the 
angels  find  it  on  the  Judgment  Day  to  pick  out  the  selfish 
from  the  unselfish  acts  of  statesmen,  even  with  the  full 
book  of  their  thoughts  before  them;  and  until  that  day 
arrives,  assuredly  there  must  continue  to  be  two  opinions 
among  men  as  to  the  course  of  Daniel  Webster  on  that 
famous  seventh  of  March. 

Pompous  and  inflated  as  he  reads  to  us  to-day,  heavy 
and  over-solemn,  his  speeches  yet  contain  half  a  dozen 
passages  of  most  magical  eloquence,  which  seized  upon 
the  hearts  of  his  countrymen  and  made  the  history 
of  a  'land  for  years  and  ages.  Terrible  he  must  have 
been  in  his  majesty  at  such  a  moment,  himself  and  all 
his  weaknesses,  his  vanities  and  his  vices  and  his  am- 
bitions, forgotten.  Men  tell  strange  tales  of  the  effects 
he  wrought,  with  his  giant  presence  and  his  golden  floods 
of  speech. 

To  the  little  knot  of  Southerners  his  oration  came  as  a 
clap  of  thunder.  With  wonder  they  heard  him  deprecat- 
ing the  Northern  agitation  which  he  himself  had  led ;  with 
curling  lips  of  scorn  they  listened  while  he  pleaded,  first 
with  the  North,  that  they  had  got  everything  of  impor- 
tance, that  California  was  safe,  and  that  New  Mexico  could 
never  support  slaves;  and  then  with  the  South  to  accept 
the  compromises.  "He  thinks  to  get  Southern  delegates 


THE  MOKNING  47 

with  a  speech  like  that!"  cried  Toombs,  "but,  by  God, 
how  he'll  find  he's  mistaken!"  And  so  it  proved  in  the 
event,  and  men  say  that  it  killed  him. 

Great  was  the  rage  of  Abolitionism  that  seventh  of 
March;  but  the  effect  of  the  speech  was  only  too  evident, 
and  the  friends  of  Senator  Davis  recognized  that  they  had 
but  one  hope  more — the  President,  who  was  still  obstinate 
and  talked  of  hanging  people.  Upon  the  floor  of  the  Senate 
was  the  great  "Harry  of  the  West,"  indomitable  old  man, 
speaking  half  a  dozen  times  a  day,  arguing,  exhorting, 
imploring,  cajoling,  commanding  —  all  for  his  beloved 
Union!  His  fate  it  has  been  to  come  down  to  history  as 
preferring  to  be  right  than  to  be  President.  Alas!  often 
enough  he  had  been  neither;  but  now  all  thoughts  of 
ambition  were  gone,  he  was  feeble  and  his  end  was  at 
hand.  He  had  no  longer  a  care  but  to  save  his  country 
— and,  as  Toombs  added  grimly,  "to  save  it  in  his  own 
way." 

When  Allan  and  his  father  left  Washington  the  strug- 
gle was  still  far  from  its  end.  The  last  sight  which  the 
boy  saw  in  the  Senate  was  Foote,  the  colleague  of  Jeffer- 
son Davis,  clad  in  the  silk  stockings  and  "pumps"  which 
men  still  wore  in  those  days,  backed  up  against  the  presi- 
dent's desk  with  a  pistol  pointed,  and  Benton  of  Missouri, 
an  enormous  man  with  a  toga-like  cloak,  flinging  it  wildly 
back  and  bidding  the  assassin  fire. 

Through  Baltimore — and  out  of  Dixie!  The  boy  sat 
with  face  glued  to  the  window,  curious  to  see  what  sort  of 
land  this  Abolitiondom  might  be.  It  would  not  be  easy 
to  describe  what  happened  to  him  —  he  could  not  have 
described  it  himself;  but  mile  after  mile  as  the  train  sped 
northward,  and  the  air  grew  cold  and  damp,  the  chill 
seemed  to  penetrate  to  the  boy's  very  soul;  he  dared  not 
even  ask  his  father,  but  sat  silent  and  amazed.  Who  not 
seeing  it  thus,  face  to  face,  could  ever  have  believed  it — 
the  extent  of  the  wrong  that  had  been  suffered  by  his 
beloved  South!  Her  slattern  villages  and  crumbling 


48  MANASSAS 

houses,  her  forest  wildernesses  and  her  wasted  fields  with 
straggling  " snake"  fences.  And  here,  among  the  homes 
of  her  oppressors,  these  trim  white  farm-houses  with 
neat  fences  and  gardens,  these  level  roads  and  endless 
ploughed-land  and  pasture,  of  the  like  of  which  no  South- 
erner had  ever  dreamed!  They  had  left  New  York  and 
were  speeding  through  Connecticut  and  Massachusetts, 
where  you  were  scarcely  out  of  one  town  before  you  were 
in  another.  "Father,"  the  boy  suddenly  burst  out,  "is 
all  the  North  like  this?" 

"All  New  England  is,"  said  his  father,  "and  all  the 
rest  will  be  soon.  There  are  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
emigrants  landing  in  New  York  every  year." 

"But,  father,"  exclaimed  Allan,  "these  people  aren't 
foreigners;  they  don't  talk  like  foreigners." 

"They  talk  through  their  condemned  long  noses,"  said 
Captain  Montague,  and  silence  reigned  again. 

So  to  hateful  Boston,  his  home  for  so  many  years  to 
come.  The  boy  had  put  on  coats  without  end,  but  still  he 
shivered  as  he  drove  through  the  streets.  He  was  com- 
pletely cowed;  never  would  he  have  believed  that  the 
land  of  the  Yankees  could  have  subdued  and  crushed  him 
so.  He  gazed  in  awe  at  the  vistas  of  stately  stores  and 
theatres,  and  huge  public  edifices,  libraries,  museums — 
who  could  tell  what?  Here  in  Boston  all  was  grim 
sobriety  —  a  man  would  be  fined  if  he  smoked  a  cigar  on 
the  street.  And  so  strange  it  seemed  to  the  boy  to  be  in 
a  place  where  there  were  no  negroes,  and  where  he  was 
waited  upon  by  white  men  and  women!  So  strange  it 
had  seemed,  anyway,  to  be  without  attendants  —  to  have 
to  lay  out  your  own  clean  shirt!  It  was  only  one  of  a 
thousand  outrages  of  which  Captain  Montague  complained, 
that  he  could  not  take  his  own  servants  with  him  to  a 
part  of  his  own  country. 

That  afternoon  they  sent  out  their  cards  to  their  kins- 
men, and  meantime  the  father  set  out  to  find  a  home. 
He  left  the  boy  to  his  own  devices,  and  Allan  fell  straight- 


THE  MORNING  49 

way  into  a  wonderful  and  most  embarrassing  adventure, 
which  cries  out  to  be  told. 

He  had  strolled  up  the  hill  from  the  hotel  to  the  great 
Capitol,  and  at  this  majestic  building  he  stood  staring  in 
wonder,  when  suddenly  he  heard  something  strike  the 
pavement  at  his  feet,  and,  gazing  down,  saw  that  'Dolph's 
huge  bowie-knife,  which  he  had  kept  in  an  inner  pocket, 
had  worn  a  hole  and  slipped  out  to  the  ground.  The  boy 
gave  a  startled  glance  around  him,  and  to  his  horror  saw 
an  elderly  gentleman  standing  not  ten  feet  away,  and 
staring,  first  at  the  knife,  and  then  at  him. 

Allan  flushed  scarlet,  and,  without  stopping  to  pick  up 
the  weapon,  turned  and  moved  away.  Scarcely,  however, 
had  he  taken  ten  steps  before  he  heard  a  voice  behind 
him,  "  Pardon  me,  my  son,  but  did  thee  not  drop  that 
knife  ?" 

Allan  glanced  back,  and  saw  the  gentleman  gazing  after 
him  in  perplexity.  "No,"  he  said  hastily,  "I  didn't" 
and  darted  on. 

But  he  did  not  go  very  far.  A  burst  of  rage  swept  over 
him.  He,  a  Southerner,  a  Mississippian — to  quail  thus 
at  the  very  outset  before  the  power  of  the  North!  To 
run  away  —  and  to  lie!  He  turned  sharply  on  his  heel, 
his  lips  set,  and  strode  back  to  where  the  gentleman  stood, 
holding  the  ferocious  weapon  in  his  hand. 

Allan  gazed  straight  into  his  eyes.  "Sir,"  he  said,  "I 
told  you  a  falsehood;  that  knife  was  mine." 

"Oh,"  gasped  the  other,  and  held  it  out  to  him. 

"No,"  said  Allan,  "I  did  not  come  back  because  I 
wanted  the  knife;  I  can  get  another  that  will  do  me  just 
as  well.  I  came,  sir,  because  I  would  not  let  you  think  I 
was  afraid  of  you." 

The  other's  perplexity  deepened  to  consternation. 
"Dear  me!"  he  said.  "What  does  thee  mean,  my 
son?  Why  should  thee  be  afraid  of  me?" 

He  was  a  very  tall  gentleman,  with  a  stern  but  benevo- 
lent countenance,  and  a  cut  of  clothes  which  made  Allan 
think  him  a  minister.  He  stood  gazing  down  into  the 
boy's  flushed  face,  still  holding  the  bowie-knife. 


50  MANASSAS 

"I  have  just  come  from  Mississippi,"  said  Allan,  with 
desperate  resolution;  "my  cousin  gave  me  that  knife  so 
that  if  I  met  an  Abolitionist  —  why  —  why  — ' ' 

He  hesitated.  Wonder,  horror,  incredulity,  and  amuse- 
ment chased  one  another  over  the  features  of  his  -Quaker 
auditor ;  in  the  end  he  put  on  a  look  of  much  gravity,  and 
laid  his  hand  upon  Allan's  shoulder,  and  said,  "Then,  my 
son,  thee  may  begin  with  me ;  for  I  am  an  Abolitionist ! ' ' 

Allan  would  have  given  a  great  deal  to  be  out  of  that 
adventure  just  then;  but  though  he  shrank  back,  he  had 
not  the  courage  to  escape. 

"Thee  has  perhaps  never  seen  an  Abolitionist  before?" 
said  the  stranger,  after  an  awkward  pause. 

"No,  sir,"  stammered  the  boy. 

"And  perhaps  thee  did  not  suppose  they  looked  just 
like  me?" 

"No,  sir,"  was  his  answer  again;  and  the  gentleman 
took  his  arm  and  said,  smiling,  "Let  us  take  a  little  walk, 
my  son,  and  talk  about  it. ' '  And  so  it  happened  that  any 
of  the  people  of  Valley  Hall  might,  had  they  chanced  to 
be  on  hand,  have  seen  Allan  strolling  around  the  Capitol 
grounds  and  talking  with  a  * '  nigger  thief ' '  as  with  any  hon- 
est man — with  one  who  stated  serenely  that  he  had  helped 
two  thousand  runaway  negroes  into  Canada !  Who  was,  of 
all  persons,  the  reputed  founder  of  the  "Underground 
Railroad ' ' — the  notorious  Levi  Coffin,  of  Cincinnati ! 

The  truth  to  be  told,  Allan  was  dazed.  He  was  listening 
— actually  listening — to  arguments  about  the  rights  of 
black  men,  to  Abolition  talk  of  black  men 's  suif erings ;  and 
all  from  the  kindest  and  dearest,  the  wisest  and  wittiest  old 
gentleman  that  ever  he  had  met  in  all  his  life  before !  And 
a  man  who  actually  gave  all  his  time  and  wealth  to  the 
managing  of  a  store  at  which  people  might  buy  Southern 
products  made  by  free  negroes,  so  terrible  a  thing  did 
he  consider  Slavery!  When  finally  he  left  the  boy,  Allan 
had  a  feeling  as  if  the  universe  had  been  turned  upside 
down  and  shaken  vigorously  for  several  minutes  about 
his  ears. 


THE  MORNING  51 

"Let  me  give  thee  back  thy  knife,  my  son,"  Mr.  Coffin 
had  said.  "But  do  promise  me  that  thee  will  not  kill  any 
Abolitionists ! ' ' 

"I— I  don't  think  I  will,"  stammered  Allan. 

"Try  to  meet  some  of  them  some  day,"  said  the  other; 
"they  are  the  best  people  in  the  world,  believe  me.  If 
thee  was  ever  sick,  or  needy,  or  in  danger,  nowhere  could 
thee  find  people  to  help  thee  so  much.  Suppose,  for 
instance,  some  wicked  man  were  to  steal  thee  and  carry 
thee  away  and  degrade  thee  into  a  chattel  and  a  thing 
like  the  beasts  that  perish,  thee  could  find  no  one  to 
plead  for  thee  save  only  among  the  Abolitionists ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  VI 

CAPTAIN  MONTAGUE  rented  a  house  upon  Beacon  Street, 
and  Allan  came  slowly  to  realize  that  Boston  was  his  home. 

They  had  met  their  relatives,  Professor  Otis,  of  Harvard 
College,  and  his  family.  The  professor  was  a  grave,  dig- 
nified man,  whose  conversation  opened  out  a  new  world  to 
Allan,  who  had  no  suspicion  of  the  existence  of  the  thing 
called  learning.  He  was  a  widower,  living  with  his  two 
children  and  his  maiden  sister,  at  whom  Allan  gazed  with 
trembling — she  was  so  much  like  the  picture  of  his  mother 
at  Valley  Hall.  She  opened  her  heart  to  the  homesick  boy 
at  once;  and  it  was  only  after  he  had  given  himself  away 
irrevocably  that  he  made  the  desperate  discovery  that  she, 
too,  was  an  Abolitionist.  She  was  amused  quite  a  little 
at  his  horror,  and  poor  Allan  met  his  second  defeat — he 
took  his  dreadful  bowie-knife  and  hid  it  away  in  a  drawer. 

Of  his  two  new  cousins,  Jack,  a  year  younger  than  him- 
self, a  beautiful  boy  with  golden  hair  and  a  laugh  like 
a  meadow  brook,  had  become  his  friend  on  the  instant. 
Little  Lucy,  three  years  his  junior,  had  proven  more  diffi- 
cult, having  sat  in  a  corner  all  the  while  the  boys  were 
playing,  staring  with  wide  eyes — and  when  Allan  made 
advances  to  her,  having  suddenly  observed,  with  crushing 
solemnity,  "They  tell  me  that  you  own  slaves!" 

His  kind  Aunt  Mary  never  wounded  him,  but  with  Lucy 
there  were  daily  arguments,  not  seldom  ending  in  quar- 
rels, concerning  biblical  sanctions  of  Slavery,  the  human- 
ness  of  black  people,  and  many  other  questions  of  the  hour. 
When  Allan  was  first  worsted  by  Abolitionism,  he  fled  to 
his  father  for  support;  but  only  once,  for  Captain  Mon- 
tague had  no  sense  of  humor  in  these  matters,  and  was  in 
his  secret  soul  bitterly  afraid  of  these  new  influences,  and 
jealous  of  the  effect  they  might  have  on  his  boy.  Allan 
learned  at  once  that  whatever  misgivings  he  might  have 

52 


THE  MORNING  53 

upon  such  subjects  in  future  must  be  hidden  in  his  own 
heart. 

Henry  Montague  had  always  been  an  irritable  little  man, 
but  was  doubly  so  since  his  lameness.  It  took  all  his  self- 
control,  he  would  vow  excitedly,  to  live  in  this  infernal 
city  without  losing  his  temper:  a  statement  which  had  a 
quaint  sound,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  he  was  losing  it  all 
day  long.  He  could  not  then  find  a  newspaper  which  was 
not  filled  with  the  clamor  of  the  Boston  radicals  over  the 
course  of  Daniel  Webster;  and  regularly  every  morning 
he  would  fling  down  the  sheet,  and,  striking  his  cane  on 
the  floor,  exclaim:  "Let  them  go  on!  Let  them  go  on! 
The  South  will  be  out  of  the  Union  in  another  three 
months,  mark  my  words!" 

And  so  it  might  have  been  —  who  knows?  Persons 
of  philosophical  inclination,  who  like  to  contemplate  the 
ironies  and  the  mysteries  of  human  fate,  may  find  a  sub- 
ject to  their  taste  in  the  historical  fact  that  the  destiny  of 
this  nation  to  the  remotest  day,  with  all  the  tremendous 
issues  which  depend  or  ever  shall  depend  upon  it,  was  to 
be  determined  by  a  few  innocent-looking  cherries  which 
were  hanging  upon  some  tree,  no  one  knew  where.  Not 
the  wisest  seer  that  ever  was  or  will  be  could  gaze  at 
American  history  and  tell  what  it  might  have  been — 
what  tens  of  thousands  of  lives  might  have  been  spared, 
or  taken — what  ruin  might  have  been  avoided,  or  wrought 
— had  it  not  been  for  those  few  innocent-looking  cherries! 
At  this  crisis  of  the  nation's  fate  they  came  to  the  hands 
of  General  Taylor,  who  ate  them;  and  five  days  later  he 
was  dead,  and  a  "Compromise  man'*  was  President. 

As  time  passed  on,  Henry  Montague  came  to  perceive 
that  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  yield  to  the  inevitable. 
All  through  the  summer  the  struggle  lasted  in  Washing- 
ton; but  in  the  end,  measure  by  measure,  the  bargain  was 
put  through.  The  country  seemed  literally  to  sink  back 
and  sigh  with  relief  at  the  end  of  the  agitation;  upon 
Boston  Common  a  salute  of  one  hundred  guns  was  fired. 
One  of  the  items  of  the  compact,  the  great  concession 
to  the  South,  was  a  "Fugitive-slave  bill"  of  relentless 


54  MANASSAS 

strictness,  one  that  bade  fair  to  be  enforceable  at  last. 
Living  in  Boston  as  Captain  Montague  had  been,  and 
perceiving  what  a  bitter  pill  this  was  for  the  North  to 
swallow,  he  had  come,  without  realizing  it,  to  look  upon 
the  bargain  as  perhaps  not  quite  so  one-sided  after  all. 
There  were  said  to  be  twenty  thousand  runaway  negroes 
in  the  free  states,  and  the  law  might  prove  of  real  impor- 
tance, if  enforced. 

Allan  was  now  going  to  school,  hoping  by  two  years  of 
hard  study  to  be  able  to  enter  the  high  school  with  his 
cousin,  and  having  been  deeply  stung  by  his  discovery  of 
the  amateurishness  of  his  educational  standards. 

From  the  first  day  it  was  with  Allan  an  individual 
against  a  whole  environment.  Perhaps  if  he  had  had  help, 
even  a  little — if  he  had  been  able  to  consult  with  his 
father,  for  instance — he  might  have  come  through  with  a 
compromise.  But  that  was  not  possible,  he  had  to  fight 
the  battle  all  alone;  and  did  not  some  one — somewhere 
— somehow — strike  every  single  day  a  blow  at  the  beau- 
tiful structure  of  his  faith  that  made  it  shiver  to  its  foun- 
dation stones?  At  the  outset,  for  instance,  he  had  to 
change  his  whole  conception  of  the  terrible  being  called 
Abolitionist.  Using  the  word  as  Allan  had  always  under- 
stood it,  to  refer  to  anyone  who  admitted  himself  op- 
posed in  any  way  to  Slavery — literally  every  one  whom 
the  poor  boy  met  was  an  Abolitionist ;  his  playmates  were 
Abolitionists,  the  very  servants  who  waited  upon  him  were 
Abolitionists.  His  father  had  engaged  a  butler,  the  first 
free  negro  Allan  had  ever  spoken  to,  a  sedate,  gray-headed 
old  man;  the  boy,  goaded  thereto  by  the  vehement  little 
Lucy,  had  urged  the  man  to  tell  him  his  story.  He  had 
been  a  slave  in  Kentucky,  had  spent  ten  years  of  his  life 
earning  his  freedom  by  working  at  night,  and  then,  being 
cheated  out  of  it  and  sold,  had  finally  escaped  to  Canada 
and  earned  it  once  again. 

— And  what  became  of  one's  life  convictions  as  to  the 
sphere  of  a  "nigger"  in  a  city  where  people  assured  you 
there  were  thousands  of  them  free  and  wealthy,  and  among 


THE  MORNING  55 

the  most  respected  people  in  the  place?  And  where  they 
invited  you  to  come  to  their  house  that  evening  and  make 
the  acquaintance  of  one ! 

His  perception  of  the  difference  between  Northern  and 
Southern  prosperity  had  of  course  not  diminished  as  time 
went  on;  but  now  he  met  people  who  assured  him  that 
the  reason  was  not  the  iniquitous  tariff  at  all,  but  Slavery ! 
They  were  quite  ready  to  demonstrate  it  by  any  number 
of  facts — and  what  could  poor  Allan  answer  in  return! 
Then  he  would  bring  up  the  " Bible  defence,"  as  he  had 
learned  it  at  home,  and  somebody  would  present  him  with 
a  Bible  defence  of  polygamy ! 

The  more  Allan  argued,  the  more  the  uncomfortable 
conviction  forced  itself  upon  him,  that  he  did  not  know  as 
much  about  Slavery  as  those  with  whom  he  talked.  He 
knew  only  the  side  of  it  he  had  seen  at  home;  but  now 
he  was  told  about  all  sorts  of  dreadful  things  of  which  he 
had  never  dreamed.  This  statement  about  the  sugar 
plantations  of  Louisiana — that  it  paid  better  to  work  the 
hands  to  death  every  seven  years  and  buy  new!  This 
statement  that  Virginia  was  nothing  but  a  great  breeding- 
ground  from  which  twenty  or  thirty  thousand  negroes 
were  shipped  South  every  year  to  make  up  the  deficiency! 
These  stories  about  negroes  beaten  by  drunken  overseers, 
about  young  girls  nearly  white  sold  into  shame,  about  free 
negroes  kidnapped  in  the  North  by  ruffians !  Allan  could 
only  break  into  rage  and  rush  away,  vowing  that  he  would 
never  let  any  one  speak  to  him  about  Slavery  again. 

Politically,  the  Slavery  question  was  supposed  to  be 
dead;  it  might  have  remained  so,  even  in  Boston,  had  it 
not  been  for  one  feature  of  the  Compromise  bill,  the  relent- 
less Fugitive  law.  The  provisions  of  this  act,  so  the  anti- 
slavery  people  claimed,  set  at  naught  the  fundamental 
principles  of  our  judicial  system;  they  put  the  burden  of 
proof  upon  the  accused,  and  they  denied  him  a  trial  by 
jury.  Also,  with  strange  contempt  of  appearances,  they 
awarded  a  double  fee  to  the  commissioner  who  decided  the 
case,  whenever  he  should  decide  against  the  negro. 

In  Boston  alone  there  were  thousands  who  had  escaped 


56  MANASSAS 

from  the  South,  some  of  them  ten  and  twenty  years  ago. 
Many  had  married  in  the  North  and  reared  families;  and 
now  any  day  the  sword  might  fall  upon  them.  It  was 
very  difficult,  indeed,  for  the  politicians  to  persuade  people 
to  regard  such  a  question  as  "dead."  In  the  spring  of 
1851,  when  Allan  had  been  a  year  in  Abolitiondom,  and 
was*  no  longer  homesick,  but  rather  very  happy  and  busy, 
there  were  wild  days  of  excitement  in  Boston.  First  there 
was  a  fugitive  by  the  name  of  Shadrach,  who,  being  lodged 
in  the  United  States  court  room  over  night,  was  abducted 
by  a  band  of  colored  men.  When  the  news  reached  Wash- 
ington the  President  issued  a  proclamation,  and  there  were 
furious  debates  in  Congress.  The  second  case  was  two 
months  later,  when  a  man  named  Sims,  a  runaway  from 
Georgia,  was  seized.  The  Abolitionists  placarded  the  town 
with  incendiary  manifestoes;  but  guarded  by  three  hun- 
dred police  and  the  militia,  Sims  was  got  safely  aboard 
ship  for  Savannah. 

Yet  the  finality  of  the  compromise  was  the  platform 
of  both  of  the  political  parties  in  the  following  year,  when 
they  made  their  presidential  nominations.  Daniel  Webster 
was  the  candidate  of  the  New  England  Whigs,  and  most 
terrible  to  witness  had  been  his  efforts  for  the  prize;  but 
he  failed  overwhelmingly — the  party  hoped  to  repeat  its 
previous  success  with  a  soldier,  and  nominated  General 
Scott,  "Old  Fuss  and  Feathers,"  as  the  army  called  him. 
Fat  and  red  as  a  turkey  cock,  and  fully  as  bustling  and 
pompous,  he  travelled  about  the  country  making  ridiculous 
speeches,  and  pouring  out  his  boundless  affection  for 
everything  and  everybody  who  had  a  vote;  it  proved  all 
for  naught,  however,  the  country  preferred  Franklin  Pierce, 
the  Democratic  candidate,  an  insignificant  personage  about 
whom  no  one  knew  anything  save  that  he  drank  too  much. 

In  this  year  died  the  last  two  of  the  trio  of  giants, 
Clay  and  Webster,  the  latter 's  place  in  the  Senate  being 
taken  by  a  Boston  lawyer  named  Charles  Sumner.  A 
trial  it  was  for  Allan's  father  to  read  the  papers  on  the 
morning  after  this  man  had  made  his  first  speech  at 


THE  MORNING  57 

Washington,  a  philippic  upon  the  Fugitive-slave  law. 
A  lawyer  of  wide  culture  and  travel,  a  representative  of 
all  that  was  best  in  the  city  of  Boston,  it  was  truly  a  thing 
of  significance  when  he  stood  up  in  the  Senate  and  de- 
clared that  one  might  as  well  try  "to  check  the  rushing 
waters  of  Niagara"  as  the  antislavery  agitation.  He,  a 
senator  sworn  to  support  the  Constitution,  hurled  his 
defiance  at  the  Fugitive-slave  act.  "Beware,"  he  cried, 
"of  the  wounds  of  the  wounded  souls!  Oppress  not  to 
the  utmost  a  single  heart,  for  a  solitary  sigh  has  power  to 
overset  a  whole  world ! ' ' 

The  words  were  very  apposite  just  at  that  time.  One 
soul  had  been  so  oppressed,  the  wife  of  a  poor  college  pro- 
fessor in  Ohio.  Weighed  down  by  the  care  of  many  chil- 
dren, she  had  yet  found  time  to  make  one  effort  to  utter 
to  the  world  her  feelings;  and  her  book,  published  in  the 
spring  of  1852,  had  proven  the  greatest  event  of  the 'lit- 
erary kind'  that  had  ever  happened  in  the  country.  Three 
thousand  copies  of  it  were  sold  upon  the  first  day  of  its 
publication,  and  three  hundred  thousand  in  a  year.  In 
England  it  was  published  by  eighteen  separate  firms  in 
the  same  period,  and  it  sold  a  million  or  two  of  copies. 
It  was  translated  into  twenty  languages — it  was  read  in 
the  hovel  and  in  the  palace,  in  Armenia  and  in  Finland — 
the  peasantry  of  Italy  were  so  shaken  by  "II  Zio  Tom" 
that  the  pope  had  to  forbid  them  to  read  it.  It  was  turned 
into  a  play;  it  filled  two  houses  in  gay  Paris,  and  in  this 
country  it  left  room  for  scarcely  anything  else  at  the  thea- 
tres. It  raised  such  a  tempest,  it  shook  men  so,  that  not 
even  the  South  could  do  without  it;  boys  went  through 
the  trains  and  steam-boats  in  the  slave  states  with  armfuls 
of  yellow-covered  novels — probably  the  only  piece  of  Abo- 
lition literature  that  was  read  in  the  South,  before  or  after. 

"Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  was  one  of  those  books  like 
' '  Pilgrim 's  Progress ' '  and  * ( Robinson  Crusoe, ' '  which 
make  their  way  into  the  world  of  literature  from  below, 
and  are  classics  before  the  literati  have  discovered  them. 
Even  now  it  is  the  fashion  to  speak  of  it  as  having  his- 
torical rather  than  literary  interest — and  when,  after  fifty 


58  MANASSAS 

years  it  is  still  the  most  popular  novel  in  the  country, 
and  as  a  play  supports  a  score  of  stock  companies  all 
the  year  round,  and  is  heard  by  probably  fifty  thousand 
persons  every  week! 

The  fact  seems  doubly  strange  in  view  of  the  recogni- 
tion that  the  critics  of  its  own  day  gave  it;  it  was  praised 
without  stint  by  such  widely  different  personages  as 
Whittier  and  Heine,  Lowell  and  Lord  Palmerston, 
Macaulay  and  George  Sand.  In  truth,  its  literary  faults 
are  evident  enough,  its  skeleton  sticks  through  its  every 
joint;  but  he  who  can  read  a  hundred  pages  of  it,  for  the 
first  or  the  twentieth  time,  with  dry  eyes,  is  not  an  envi- 
able person.  It  was,  when  it  appeared,  and  it  has  remained 
to  this  day,  the  most  unquestionable  piece  of  inspiration 
in  American  fiction ;  and  probably  nowhere  in  5the  litera- 
ture of  all  the  ,  world  is  there  a  book  more  packed  and 
charged  with  the  agony  and  heartbreak  of  woman. 

It  was  very  trying  to  statesmen  to  have  such  a  work 
appear  just  after  they  had  settled  the  question — a  work 
which,  said  Eufus  Choate,  who  had  sneered  at  the  "glit- 
tering generalities"  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
"will  make  two  millions  of  Abolitionists."  To  be  sure, 
there  were  no  effects  immediately  visible — but  it  gave  a 
frightful  impetus  to  that  "din  and  roll  and  rub-a-dub  of 
Abolition  presses  and  Abolition  lecturers,"  which,  as 
Webster  knew  by  bitter  experience,  was  sure  to  result 
sooner  or  later  in  situations  embarrassing  to  presidential 
candidates. 

In  the  midst  of  the  excitement  Allan's  father  read  the 
book.  In  a  conversation  the  boy  heard  him  vehemently 
denounce  its  "degrading  negro  sentimentalism, "  and  he 
carried  this  phrase  around  with  him  for  over  a  year  and  a 
half,  and  made  it  his  stock  reply  to  any  one  who  spoke  to 
him  about  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin."  But,  as  often  hap- 
pens, a  too  zealous  defender  of  his  own  side  brought 
about  the  boy's  undoing.  There  were  many  "refutations" 
of  Uncle  Tom  composed  by  the  indignant  South,  and  one 
of  these  was  judged  orthodox  reading  for  Allan.  The  re- 
sult was  that  his  curiosity  was  so  piqued  that  one  day  in 


THE  MORNING  59 

the  Christmas  holidays  of  the  year  1853,  seeing  an  old 
copy  in  a  bookstore,  he  bought  it  and  hid  it  away  in  his  room. 

Allan  was  fifteen,  not  yet  old  enough  to  resist  a  story. 
As  he  read  it,  that  never-to-be-forgotten  night,  two  emo- 
tions seized  him,  and  grew  side  by  side — one  of  agonized 
sympathy  for  human  creatures  in  the  grip  of  a  frightful 
evil,  and  the  other  a  dazed  realization  that  this  evil  was 
nothing  else  than  the  " peculiar  institution"  of  the  South. 

All  Allan's  life  he  had  had  a  dream  of  something  which 
he  lacked,  and  for  which  no  substitute  had  ever  quite  suf- 
ficed— a  mother's  love;  and  here  was  a  mother's  book, 
every  line  of  it  seemed  to  bring  him  face  to  face  with  the 
very  mother-soul.  What  bore  it  so  far,  what  made  it 
thrill  a  score  of  nations,  but  that  everlasting  mother- 
ness  that  was  in  it:  a  mother's  passionate  tenderness,  a 
mother's  frantic  claspingness,  a  mother's  terror  at  destruc- 
tion, at  cruelty  and  wounds  and  death?  This  woman  had 
buried  children,  had  parted  from  portions  of  her  soul ;  and 
every  love,  no  matter  how  humble  and  poor,  that  ever  the 
wickedness  of  things  had  wronged,  was  voiced  in  the  fear- 
ful heartbreak  of  her  book.  "Have  I  not  guarded  them," 
it  seemed  to  cry ;  * '  have  I  not  born  them,  with  agony  such 
as  you  cannot  dream  ?  Have  I  not  nursed  them,  toiled  for 
them  with  endless  weariness?  Are  they  not  parts  of  me, 
flesh  of  my  flesh  and  soul  of  my  soul — and  now  will  you 
destroy  them?" 

In  three  years  the  boy  had  grown  quite  used  to  the  ab- 
stract statement  that  slaves  had  feelings  "like  us";  but 
it  was  quite  another  thing  to  have  them  laid  before  you. 
Allan  was  like  the  senator  of  the  story — he  had  voted  for 
the  rendition  of  fugitives,  but  when  one  suddenly  appeared 
at  his  door,  shivering  and  helpless,  he  turned  Abolitionist 
and  "nigger  thief."  He  fought  as  long  as  he  could,  but 
in  the  end  he  gave  himself  up  to  that  story,  and  writhed 
and  suffered,  and  turned  away  sobbing  convulsively,  and 
then  brushed  away  the  tears  and  read  again.  When  at  last 
he  came  to  himself  he  had  read  nearly  all  of  the  book,  and 
it  was  daylight. 

He  put  out  his  light  and  tried  to  go  to  sleep,  but  he 


60  MANASSAS 

could  not.  When  he  came  downstairs  he  was  so  pale  and 
his  eyes  so  red  that  his  father  gave  a  start  when  he  saw 
him.  The  boy  made  the  best  excuse  he  could — he  had 
been  sick  and  had  not  slept ;  as  soon  as  he  could  get  away, 
he  went  back  to  his  room  and  lost  himself  in  the  story 
again.  When  he  read  the  last  scenes,  of  the  death  of 
Uncle  Tom,  that  tremendous  piece  of  writing  seemed  to 
him  almost  more  than  he  could  bear;  alone  in  the  midst 
of  black  night  and  horror  he  fought  the  fearful  battle  of 
the  old  negro's  soul,  and  when  he  closed  the  book  there 
were  beads  of  perspiration  on  his  forehead. 

Allan  bore  the  misery  about  with  him  for  a  week,  speak- 
ing of  it  to  no  one ;  at  last,  however,  he  could  stand  it  no 
more,  and  fled  to  his  uncle's  house.  He  chanced  to  meet 
Professor  Otis  just  coming  out  of  his  door,  and  caught  him 
by  the  arm  and  dragged  him  into  the  parlor. 

11  Uncle  William,"  he  said  swiftly,  "you  must  help 
me!"  And  when  his  uncle  inquired  in  alarm  what  was 
the  matter,  the  boy  whispered,  in  a  voice  of  awe,  "I  have 
been  reading  *  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin'!" 

The  other  uttered  a  long-drawn  "0!"— "Yes,"  said 
Allan,  swiftly,  "I  read  it  twice,  and  it's  dreadful!" 

The  professor  put  his  arm  about  him  gently.  "Poor 
boy,"  he  said,  "it  must  have  come  hard." 

"Uncle  William,"  the  boy  exclaimed,  "you  must  tell  me 
something — the  honest  truth — you  must ! ' ' 

"I  will,  Allan;  what  is  it?" 

"I  want  to  know  if  it  is  true;  I  want  to  know  if  such 
things  can  ever  happen  ? ' ' 

"I  fear  that  they  do,  Allan,"  was  the  answer.  "I  have 
known  of  such  cases." 

"I  can't  believe  it!"  he  rushed  on.  "I  can't  believe 
it!  They  couldn't  be  allowed  in  the  world;  people  would 
find  out  about  them ! ' ' 

"People  do  find  out  about  them,  Allan,"  said  the  pro- 
fessor, gravely;  "but  then  when  they  do  they  are  called 
Abolitionists,  and  no  one  will  believe  them.  You  would 
find  that  happening  to  yourself  if  you  took  the  trouble  to 
make  sure. ' ' 


THE  MORNING  61 

"I  am  going  to  find  out  about  it,"  cried  Allan,  passion- 
ately; "I  mean  to  know  the  truth!  I  mean  to!  I  mean 
to!" 

Professor  Otis  drew  the  boy  toward  him,  meantime 
gazing  in  front  of  him  with  knitted  brows.  Then  sud- 
denly a  light  dawned,  and  he  said :  '  '  I  will  tell  you  what 
we  can  do,  Allan;  I  had  an  engagement  to-night,  but  I 
will  break  it  and  go  with  you.  I  remember  the  date,  the 
fourth  of  January,  and  the  chance  is  too  good  to  miss.  You 
stay  here  to  dinner,  and  this  evening  we  will  go  to  hear 
something  interesting.  I  won't  tell  you  what,  but  you 
shall  have  a  chance  to  make  up  your  own  mind." 

They  went  to  some  theatre.  It  seemed  to  be  the 
professor's  wish  to  keep  his  nephew  from  forming  any 
opinions  in  advance;  he  took  him  in  a  carriage,  and 
whisked  him  into  the  place  before  he  had  a  chance  to 
glance  at  the  signs  outside.  The  audience  seemed  to  be 
composed  of  more  refined  people  than  usual ;  a  sudden  wild 
thought  flashed  over  the  boy,  and  he  turned  and  whispered, 
11  Uncle  William,  is  this  an  Abolition  meeting?" 

The  professor  smiled  and  answered,  "No,  not  quite," 
and  Allan  sat  back.  He  waited  patiently,  until  all  at  once 
the  audience  began  vigorously  to  applaud — and  then  with 
a  sudden  jump  the  boy  sat  forward,  his  mouth  flying  open 
very  wide.  Walking  out  upon  the  platform,  dressed  in 
evening  costume  and  smiling  to  the  multitude,  was  a 
great,  big,  woolly-headed  negro! 

Professor  Otis  had  his  hand  firmly  on  his  nephew's  arm, 
as  he  would  upon  a  restive  colt  to  calm  him ;  and  Allan  fell 
back  with  a  gasp.  For  perhaps  half  a  minute  the  negro 
stood  bowing;  then,  the  audience  having  at  last  become 
still,  he  clasped  his  hands  behind  his  back,  and  opened  his 
mouth,  and  actually  began  to  speak! 


CHAPTER  VII 

HE  was  a  very  tall  and  powerfully  built  man  of  about 
thirty-five,  a  mulatto ;  his  face  was  typically  African,  and 
yet  it  was  more — it  seemed  like  an  idealization,  by  an 
artist  in  heroic  mood.  Pain  and  suffering  were  written 
upon  it,  and  grim  resolution  lurked  about  the  mouth;  the 
forehead  was  broad  and  bold,  and  the  eyes  intense.  The 
man  spoke  with  perfect  self-possession,  as  if  he  had  been 
used  to  it  all  his  life;  also  he  possessed  a  voice  of  depth 
and  power. 

" Ladies  and  gentlemen, ' '  he  said,  "when  they  told  me 
that  I  was  wanted  to  talk  once  more  in  Boston,  I  said  to 
myself  that  here,  at  least,  would  be  something  new.  For 
wherever  I  am  asked  to  speak,  some  one  of  the  managing 
committee  invariably  comes  to  me  beforehand  and  says, 
'  We  wish  that  you  would  tell  your  story ;  we  are  sure  that 
the  audience  wants  to  hear  that;  we  don't  think  that  you 
could  possibly  say  anything  that  would  count  for  so  much 
as  your  story.'  And  of  course,  my  friends,  that  is  very 
true,  but  it  is  also  very  hard  on  me ;  I  assure  you  that  it 
is  a  trial  to  travel  up  and  down  the  American  continent 
telling  the  same  story  night  after  night  for  years.  And 
so  now  I  said  to  myself  that  at  least  in  Boston  everybody 
knows  my  story,  and  so  I  may  indulge  such  originality  as 
God  has  given  me.  But,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  an  hour 
ago  as  I  sat  at  dinner  I  was  handed  this  note  which  I  have 
in  my  hand,  and  which  is  signed  by  a  very  well-known 
gentleman  of  your  city: — 

"  'My  dear  Frederick, — I  am  coming  to-night  to  hear 
you  and  to  bring  a  young  Southern  friend,  who  is  agitated 
upon  the  subject  of  Slavery.  I  pray  you,  do  not  discuss 
abstractions  to-night — tell  your  story!" 

62 


THE  MORNING  63 

The  speaker  paused,  and  the  audience  laughed  and  ap- 
plauded. Allan  had  turned  scarlet,  and  was  trembling, 
feeling  as  if  every  eye  in  the  place  was  upon  him. 

"I  see  my  correspondent  here  in  the  room,"  said  the 
orator,  as  he  folded  up  the  letter  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
"So  I  shall  have  to  comply,  I  fear;  and  you,  the  rest  of 
the  audience,  will  have  to  make  out  as  you  can."  The 
rest  of  the  audience  applauded  vigorously. 

The  lecturer  had  been  a  slave  upon  the  plantation  of  one 
Colonel  Edward  Lloyd,  in  the  "Tuckahoe  district"  of  the 
Eastern  Shore  of  Maryland.  It  was  a  fever-ridden  coun- 
try, whose  soil  was  sandy  and  worn-out  and  whose  inhab- 
itants were  decayed  and  spiritless.  The  plantation  was 
one  of  the  largest  in  Maryland,  and  its  owner  one  of  the 
wealthiest  and  most  aristocratic  planters  in  the  State.  The 
speaker  had  been  the  property  of  his  steward  and  had 
grown  up  in  an  isolated  spot,  with  many  other  children, 
in  an  old  ramshackle  cabin  under  the  care  of  his  aged 
grandmother.  He  described  his  life  there,  quietly  and  in 
the  simplest  language;  but  not  two  minutes  had  passed 
before  he  had  Allan  spellbound — this  man  had  a  gift  of 
vision,  and  his  every  sentence  was  charged  with  an  intensity 
of  feeling  which  took  it  straight  to  the  listener's  heart. 
A  strange,  an  almost  miraculous  experience  it  was  for  the 
young  Southerner!  A  trembling  came  over  him,  and  he 
found  himself  clutching  his  seat  and  bending  forward. 
Could  anybody  have  persuaded  him  an  hour  ago  that  some 
one  might  present  him  with  a  view  of  the  South  absolutely 
new  to  him,  of  whose  existence  he  had  never  even  dreamed, 
— and  yet  which  brought  with  its  every  detail  the  evi- 
dence of  its  own  indisputable  veracity? 

A  picture  of  Slavery — by  the  slave!  What  a  curious 
situation — you  did  not  know  how  old  you  were,  or  who 
your  father  was,  or  where  your  brothers  and  sisters  lived! 
Your  mother  had  to  walk  twenty-four  miles  after  working 
all  day  as  a  field-hand  to  pay  a  visit  to  her  boy!  You 
belonged  to  some  one,  and  you  did  not  understand  why, 
or  whence,  or  for  what  purpose ! 


64  MANASSAS 

And  when  the  slave  child  went  away  to  the  great  plan- 
tation, how  very  true  it  was,  every  detail  of  it!  The 
crowded  quarters;  the  barns,  the  stables;  the  storehouses, 
the  kitchens,  the  wash-houses;  the  hen-houses,  the  dairies, 
the  arbors;  the  " great  house "  with  its  porticoes  and  lawns, 
its  driveways  and  shrubbery.  But  what  a  singular  way 
was  this  to  have  it  appear  to  one! — "It  is  one  of  those 
secluded  and  out-of-the-way  places  which  exist,  even  in 
the  State  of  Maryland,  seldom  visited  by  a  ray  of  healthy 
public  sentiment,  where  Slavery,  wrapped  in  its  own  con- 
genial midnight  darkness,  can  and  does  develop  all  its 
malign  and  shocking  characteristics.  Nearly  all  the  plan- 
tations or  farms  in  the  vicinity  belong  to  Colonel  Lloyd, 
and  those  which  do  not  are  owned  by  personal  friends  of 
his,  as  deeply  interested  in  maintaining  the  slave  system 
in  all  its  rigor  as  Colonel  Lloyd  himself.  The  plantation 
is  a  little  nation  of  its  own,  having  its  own  language,  its 
own  rules,  regulations,  and  customs.  The  laws  and  insti- 
tutions of  the  State  touch  it  nowhere;  there  are  no  con- 
flicting rights  of  property,  for  everything  is  owned  by 
one  man.  Religion  and  politics  are  alike  excluded.  In 
its  isolation  it  resembles  what  the  baronial  domains  were 
during  the  Middle  Ages  in  Europe.  Grim,  cold,  and  un- 
approachable by  all  genial  influences  from  without,  there 
it  stands —  full  three  hundred  years  behind  the  age  in  all 
that  relates  to  humanity  and  morals!'' 

The  man  told  the  story  of  his  childhood,  in  its  utter 
loneliness  and  desolation.  He  pictured  "Aunt  Katy,"  the 
steward's  cook,  a  terrible  virago  who  fed  most  of  the  food 
allowance  to  her  own  children,  and  left  the  rest  to  starve. 
He  told  how  he  had  drunk  the  water  the  meat  was  cooked 
in,  and  fought  for  crumbs  with  the  dogs;  how  at  night 
he  slept  in  the  chimney-corner  with  his  legs  in  the  ashes 
to  keep  them  warm,  or  crawled  in  to  the  meal-sack  in  the 
closet,  his  feet  being  sometimes  so  cracked  with  the  cold 
that  one  might  put  a  nail  into  them. 

— And  then  suddenly  the  man's  manner  changed;  a  fire 
leaped  to  his  countenance,  and  his  sentences  seemed  to 
crack  and  sparkle — he  turned  to  picture  another  side  of 


THE  MORNING  65 

plantation  life,  the  one  which  Allan  knew  well;  and  the 
latter  sat  literally  shaking.  "The  close-fisted  stinginess 
that  fed  the  poor  slave  on  coarse  corn-meal  and  tainted 
meat,  that  clothed  him  in  crashy  tow  linen,  and  hurried 
him  on  to  toil  through  the  field  in  all  weathers,  with 
wind  and  rain  beating  through  his  tattered  garments ;  that 
scarcely  gave  even  the  young  slave  mother  time  to  nurse 
her  hungry  infant  in  the  fence  corner — wholly  vanishes 
on  approaching  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  ' great  house,' 
the  home  of  the  Lloyds.  Here  the  scriptural  phrase  finds 
an  exact  illustration;  the  highly  favored  inmates  of  the 
mansion  are  literally  'arrayed  in  purple  and  fine  linen/ 
and  fare  sumptuously  every  day.  The  table  groans  under 
the  heavy  and  blood-bought  luxuries,  gathered  with  pains- 
taking care,  at  home  and  abroad.  Fields,  forests,  rivers, 
and  seas  are  made  tributary  here.  Immense  wealth,  and 
its  lavish  expenditure,  fill  the  great  house  with  all  that 
can  please  the  eye  or  tempt  the  taste.  Here  appetite,  not 
food,  is  the  great  desideratum.  Chickens,  ducks  of  all 
kinds,  wild  and  tame,  guinea-fowls,  turkeys,  geese,  and 
peafowls  are  in  their  several  pens,  fat  and  fattening  for 
the  destined  vortex.  Swans,  partridges,  pheasants,  and 
pigeons;  beef,  veal,  mutton,  and  venison;  the  teeming 
riches  of  the  Chesapeake,  trout,  oysters,  crabs,  and  terra- 
pin; the  dairy,  too,  probably  the  finest  on  the  Eastern 
Shore;  the  fertile  garden,  many  acres  in  size,  with  its 
scientific  gardener,  imported  from  Scotland.  Baltimore 
gathers  figs,  almonds,  and  juicy  grapes  from  Spain,  wines 
and  brandies  from  France — all  conspiring  to  swell  the 
tide  of  high  life,  where  pride  and  indolence  roll,  loll,  and 
lounge  in  magnificence  and  satiety.  Behind  the  tall- 
backed  and  elaborately-wrought  chairs  stand  the  ser- 
vants, men  and  maidens,  fifteen  in  number,  discriminately 
selected,  not  only  with  a  view  to  their  faithfulness,  but 
with  special  regard  to  their  personal  appearance,  their 
graceful  agility  and  captivating  address.  Some  of  these 
are  armed  with  fans,  and  are  fanning  reviving  breezes 
toward  the  overheated  brows  of  the  alabaster  ladies; 
others  watch  with  eager  eyes,  and  with  fawnlike  step 


66  MANASSAS 

anticipate  and  supply  all  wants.  These  servants  consti- 
tute the  black  aristocracy  upon  Colonel  Lloyd's  planta- 
tion; they  resemble  the  field-hands  in  nothing  except  in 
color;  the  delicate  colored-maid  rustles  in  the  scarcely 
worn  silk  of  her  young  mistress,  while  the  servant-men 
are  equally  well  attired  from  the  overflowing  wardrobe  of 
their  young  masters;  so  that  in  dress,  as  well  as  in  form 
and  feature,  in  manner  and  speech,  in  taste  and  habits, 
the  distance  between  these  favored  few,  and  the  sorrow 
and  hunger  smitten  multitudes  of  the  quarter  and  the 
fields,  is  immense.  In  the  toil  of  these  latter  even  horses 
and  hounds  are  merry.  In  the  stable  you  will  find,  kept 
only  for  pleasure,  full  thirty-five  horses  of  the  most  ap- 
proved blood  for  speed  and  beauty.  Over  the  way  from 
the  stable  is  a  house  built  especially  for  the  hounds — a 
pack  of  twenty-five  or  thirty,  whose  fare  would  have  made 
glad  the  hearts  of  a  dozen  slaves.  Nor  is  this  all;  there 
is  practised  at  the  Lloyd's  a  hospitality  which  must  aston- 
ish and  charm  any  health-seeking  Northern  divine  or  mer- 
chant. Viewed  from  his  own  table,  and  not  from  the  field, 
Colonel  Lloyd  is  a  model  of  generous  hospitality.  His 
house  is  literally  a  hotel  for  weeks  during  the  summer 
months.  On  these  occasions  all  that  pride,  taste,  and 
money  can  do  to  dazzle  and  charm  is  done.  Who  can  say 
that  the  servants  of  Colonel  Lloyd  are  not  well  clad  and 
cared  for,  after  witnessing  one  of  his  magnificent  enter- 
tainments? Who  can  say  that  they  do  not  seem  to  glory 
in  being  the  slaves  of  such  a  master  ?  Who,  but  a  fanatic, 
can  get  up  any  sympathy  for  persons  whose  every  move- 
ment is  agile,  easy,  and  graceful,  and  who  evince  a  con- 
sciousness of  high  superiority?  And  observe  that  this 
is  all  that  visitors  ever  do  see,  or  that  the  inmates  them- 
selves see,  for  that  matter!  Colonel  Lloyd  would  not 
know  one  of  his  own  field-hands  if  he  passed  him;  he 
knows  only  his  steward,  who  in  turn  knows  the  overseer 
of  each  of  the  farms.  And  who  of  his  guests  visits  the 
quarters,  where  in  the  night  time  sleep  fathers,  mothers, 
brothers,  sisters,  all  in  one  room,  upon  a  damp  clay  floor, 
wrapped  in  a  single  blanket,  and  crowded  by  the  dying 


THE  MORNING  67 

fire?  Who  asks  to  see  the  hospitals,  where  men  and 
women  lie  upon  bare  boards  in  a  house  with  broken  win- 
dows and  open  door  through  which  the  rain  beats,  suf- 
fering, rotting,  in  the  agonies  of  every  horrible  disease? 
Who  asks  about  the  hearts  that  are  broken — about 
mothers  and  children,  husbands  and  wives,  who  are  torn 
apart  forever,  when  Austen  Woldfolk,  the  slave  buyer, 
comes  once  a  month  to  take  away  from  the  plantation 
its  increase?  Who  tramps  to  the  fields,  where  vulgar 
coarseness  and  brutal  cruelty  spread  themselves  and  flour- 
ish, rank  as  weeds  in  the  tropics;  where  a  vile  beast,  in 
the  shape  of  a  man,  rides,  walks,  or  struts  about,  dealing 
blows,  and  leaving  gashes  upon  broken-spirited  men  and 
helpless  women  just  out  of  childbirth,  for  thirty  dollars  a 
month — a  business  so  horrible,  hardening,  and  disgraceful 
that  rather  than  engage  in  it  a  decent  man  would  blow 
his  own  brains  out?" 

Unperceived  the  man  had  grown  terrible  in  his  anger; 
lightning  shot  from  his  eyes,  and  his  voice  rose  like  the 
storm  wind — as  suddenly  he  raised  his  clenched  hands  to 
the  sky.  "And  who  are  you,  what  are  you,  that  you 
dare  this  infamy?  By  what  right,  by  what  power,  do 
you  stand  thus  upon  the  backs  of  toiling  human  creatures 
— do  you  own  them,  as  if  they  were  beasts  of  the  field  that 
you  might  eat?  By  what  right  do  you  riot  in  luxury  and 
spread  yourself  a  splendor,  made  whole  out  of  the  blood 
and  tears  and  agonies  of  these  thousands  of  immortal 
souls?  What  have  you  done  for  them,  what  do  you  do 
for  them,  that  they  should  have  reared  this  palace  for 
you — and  for  your  family  and  your  guests,  your  horses 
and  your  dogs?  You — young  Southerner,  slaveholder — 
what,  has  it  never  occurred  to  you  in  all  your  life  before 
—have  you  ridden  but  over  your  teeming  acres,  watched 
us  toiling  in  the  blistering  sun,  hour  after  hour,  without 
rest  or  hope,  seen  the  lash  laid  upon  our  naked  and  bleed- 
ing backs,  and  never  even  dreamed  that  we  had  souls  f  Look 
at  me — look  at  me!"  (He  smote  his  hands  upon  his 
breast.)  "Have  not  /  a  soul?  Have  not  I  a  will — a 
vision  —  a  God  —  like  you?  Hopes  and  loves,  joys  and 


68  MANASSAS 

sorrows  —  rights  —  like  you?  Hath  not  a  slave  eyes? 
If  you  prick  us  do  we  not  bleed?  If  you  poison  us,  do 
we  not  die?  And  yet  you  dare  to  sell  us  with  your 
horses  and  your  dogs!  Back  there  in  that  night  of 
horror  I  left  brothers  and  sisters — they  are  scattered  like 
the  clouds  in  the  sky,  and  never  on  this  earth  shall  I  find 
them  again !  And  yet  you  dream  that  you  can  perpetrate 
such  infamy  and  there  not  be  poured  out  upon  you — some- 
how— somewhere — fire  and  destruction  from  the  heaven  of 
an  All- just  and  All-merciful  God!" 

— The  man  paused;  and  the  audience  burst  forth  in  a 
storm  of  acclamation,  in  the  midst  of  which  Allan  sat 
shuddering.  When  the  orator  again  proceeded  it  was  in 
a  low,  quiet  tone. 

"Many  things  I  could  tell  you  that  I  have  seen  on  that 
plantation,  were  my  time  not  limited.  I  have  seen  a  man 
shot  dead  because  he  stood  in  the  river  and  refused  to 
come  out  when  called.  I  have  seen  a  woman  who  had 
been  beaten  over  the  head  with  a  hickory  cudgel  by  a 
drunken  overseer,  sent  back  with  curses  because  she  dared 
come  to  the  steward  to  complain.  I  have  seen  a  woman 
tied  up  by  the  wrists  and  beaten  upon  her  naked  back 
because  she  refused  to  yield  herself  to  the  steward's  lust. 
— But  I  must  go  on  to  my  later  years — to  the  time  when 
I  was  suddenly,  by  God's  providence,  as  I  have  always 
believed,  taken  out  of  this  home  of  all  darkness. " 

The  speaker  went  on  to  tell  of  his  being  sent  on  to 
Baltimore  to  serve  a  little  boy  relative  of  the  family;  and 
of  his  kind  mistress,  who  first  taught  him  to  read,  and 
then  tried  to  prevent  him,  when  her  husband  had  shown 
her  its  unwisdom.  Step  by  step  you  saw  how  the  soul  of 
that  beautiful  and  kind  lady  was  turned  to  harshness  and 
bitterness  by  this  effort  to  watch  and  keep  down  and  cir- 
cumvent another  human  creature.  Strange  and  painful 
was  his  picture  of  his  childish  groping  for  light  in  the 
midst  of  this  darkness,  until  at  last  the  truth  was  found. 

Next,  the  steward,  his  master,  died,  and  the  estate  was 
divided,  and  his  lot  changed  again.  This  time  he  found 
himself  in  St.  Michaels,  an  oyster-fishing  village  of  Mary- 


THE  MORNING  69 

land,  notable  for  the  drunken  and  sodden  character  of  its 
inhabitants.  There  he  became  the  property  of  a  Cap- 
tain Auld,  who  had  got  religion  and  taken  to  singing 
psalms,  but  who  fed  his  slaves  upon  half  a  peck  of  corn- 
meal  a  week.  Finding  his  new  slave  rebellious,  he  at  last 
hired  him  for  a  year  to  one  Covey,  a  savage  creature 
whose  reputation  as  a  " negro  breaker"  enabled  him  to 
hire  labor  for  his  farm  for  almost  nothing.  It  made  his 
hearers  shiver,  the  negro's  picture  of  this  character,  of 
his  green,  snakelike  eyes,  his  sneaking  watchfulness,  and 
his  ferocious  cruelty.  The  slave  felt,  as  he  trudged  to  his 
farm,  one  bitter  January  morning  "like  a  fish  in  the  net, 
being  drawn  to  the  shore."  "I  am  but  the  sport  of  a 
power  which  makes  no  account,  either  of  my  welfare  or 
of  my  happiness.  I  have  been  spoiled  and  made  tender 
by  kindness  in  Baltimore — I  have  developed  a  mind;  and 
now,  like  a  wild  young  working  animal,  I  am  to  be  broken 
to  the  yoke  of  a  bitter  and  lifelong  bondage." 

The  first  day  his  clothing  was  torn  from  his  back,  and 
three  black-gum  ox-goads  worn  out  upon  him.  "From  the 
dawn  of  day  until  darkness  was  complete  at  evening  I 
was  kept  at  hard  work,  in  the  fields  or  the  woods.  At 
certain  seasons  of  the  year  we  were  all  kept  in  the  fields 
until  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  at  night.  If  at  any  time 
in  my  life  more  than  another  I  was  made  to  drink  the 
bitterest  dregs  of  Slavery,  that  time  was  during  the  first 
six  months  of  my  stay  with  Mr.  Covey.  We  were  worked 
all  weathers — it  was  never  too  hot  nor  too  cold.  It  could 
never  rain,  snow,  or  blow  too  hard  for  us  to  work  in  the 
fields.  Mr.  Covey  succeeded  in  breaking  me;  I  was 
broken  in  body,  soul,  and  spirit.  My  natural  elasticity 
was  crushed;  my  intellect  languished;  my  disposition  to 
read  departed;  the  cheerful  spark  that  lingered  about  my 
eye  died ;  the.  dark  night  of  Slavery  closed  in  upon  me,  and 
behold  a  man  transformed  into  a  ~brute!" 

Never  did  Allan  forget  in  all  his  life  the  feeling  that 
rushed  over  him  as  he  listened  to  those  words.  There 
was  no  need  for  him  to  listen  more;  the  work  with  him 
had  been  done. 


70  MANASSAS 

Yet  he  sat,  shuddering,  while  the  negro  described  the 
climax — how,  when  he  fell  panting  in  the  field  one  hot 
July  day,  the  man  gashed  his  head  with  a  hickory  slab — 
and  how  later  he  ran  away,  and  fainting  and  almost  dying, 
blood-stained  'and  horrible,  confronted  his  owner,  only  to 
be  sent  back,  with  the  excuse  that  otherwise  his  year's 
wages  would  be  lost.  For  a  week  he  hid  in  the  swamps, 
cared  for  by  another  slave,  and  when  he  returned  at  last 
and  the  farmer  attempted  to  beat  him,  in  a  sudden  burst 
of  fury  he  confronted  him  and  fought  him  off.  It  was 
death  to  a  slave  to  resist  his  master;  but  this  man,  as  it 
chanced,  had  his  reputation  as  a  " negro  breaker"  to  keep, 
and  would  not  let  it  be  publicly  known  that  he  had  tried 
in  vain  to  beat  a  sixteen-year-old  boy.  During  the  six 
months  more  that  the  slave  lived  with  him,  he  never  laid 
hands  upon  him  again.  "You  can  kill  me,  but  you  can- 
not beat  me,"  was  the  slave's  defiance. 

Many  other  adventures  the  man  told;  in  the  end  he 
had  found  himself  in  Baltimore,  whence  he  had  made  his 
escape.  He  passed  over  these  things  with  a  few  brief 
words;  and  then,  cast  loose  from  the  restraint  of  his  nar- 
rative, rushed  on  in  bursts  of  impassioned  eloquence,  of 
denunciation,  sarcasm,  pleading — almost  of  tears.  Never 
but  once  before  had  Allan  heard  any  one  like  him,  and 
that  was  Yancey.  When  the  man  closed,  his  auditor  was 
breathless  and  dazed — and  with  every  principle  of  his 
whole  boyhood  scattered  into  confusion. 

He  came  out  of  the  place  and  walked  down  the  street  in 
silence.  They  had  left  the  crowded  thoroughfares  and 
were  walking  through  the  Common,  before  the  boy  at  last 
looked  up  and  asked  faintly,  "Uncle  William,  who  is  that 
man?" 

"His  name  is  Frederick  Douglass,"  was  the  reply. 

And  again  Allan  said  nothing,  but  walked  on.  Then 
suddenly  he  broke  out  with  passionate  vehemence,  "I 
hope  that  you  don't  suppose  that  our  negroes  are  ever 
starved!" 

"I  don't,  Allan,"  said  his  uncle;  "I  don't  imagine  that 


THE  MORNING  71 

gentlemen  at  the  South  treat  their  servants  any  worse 
than  I  treat  mine.  But  if  every  one  in  the  world  were 
a  gentleman,  my  boy,  it  would  solve  a  very  great  many 
problems.  My  brother-in-law  sat  at  the  bedside  of  a  run- 
away in  Philadelphia,  who  had  walked  for  six  days  and 
nights  in  the  snow,  until  his  legs  were  frozen  and  he  be- 
came insane;  that  man  had  his  back  simply  cut  up  into 
shreds,  and  every  one  of  his  finger-nails  torn  out." 

The  boy  winced,  but  made  no  sound.  "And  think  of 
girls,  often  the  daughters  of  Southern  gentlemen,  and 
well  brought  up !  Think  of  their  being  sold  in  the  open 
market — " 

"They  wouldn't  be  sold!"  the  boy  exclaimed.  "A 
gentleman  would  not — " 

"Ah,  yes,"  the  other  interrupted.  "But  suppose  he 
fails  in  business,  or  his  house  burns  down  and  he  can't 
pay  his  debts?  Suppose  he  dies,  and  his  heirs  can't  agree 
upon  a  division?  Why,  Allan,  beautiful  girls  nearly 
white  are  sold  every  day  in  New  Orleans  for  eight  or  ten 
times  as  much  as  an  ordinary  slave  would  bring.  It  is 
well  known  that  a  daughter  of  Thomas  Jefferson  was 
sold  there  long  ago  for  a  thousand  dollars." 

The  boy  walked  on  again,  too  much  hurt  to  speak. 
"Of  course,"  his  uncle  continued,  "not  all  slaves  are  men 
of  genius  like  Douglass — if  they  were,  the  thing  would 
soon  cease,  I  assure  you.  Many  of  them,  from  what  I 
gather,  must  be  very  sodden,  and  suffer  very  little.  I 
think  it  would  be  a  long  time  before  Slavery  ended  in  this 
country  if  only  the  slaves  were  to  be  considered.  But 
we  are  fighting  Slavery,  Allan,  for  the  wrong  it  does  the 
white  man." 

"You  mean  because  it  is  wicked  to  have  slaves?" 

* '  Fundamentally,  yes ;  because  it  is  a  system  based  upon 
force,  and  therefore  making  impossible  the  highest  types 
of  civilization.  Southern  society,  in  spite  of  all  its  refine- 
ment, is  really,  so  far  as  intellectual  things  are  concerned, 
entirely  provincial  and  sterile ;  it  has  made  not  the  slight- 
est contribution  to  civilization5  in  literature,  or  science, 
or  art,  or  philosophy,  nor  would  it  in  a  thousand  years." 


72  MANASSAS 

Two  or  three  years  ago  Allan  would  have  been  vehe- 
ment over  such  words;  now,  however,  he  was  silent. 

'  *  You  hear  Slavery  justified, ' '  the  other  went  on, ' '  because 
the  negroes  are  inferior;  but  it  is  not  only  the  negroes  it 
degrades  —  look  at  the  working  classes  of  the  whites.  You 
do  not  need  me  to  point  out  the  difference  between  a  New 
England  farmer  and  a  Southern  '  poor  white ' ;  and  that  is 
simply  another  of  the  effects  of  a  system  that  puts  a  stigma 
upon  labor  and  stifles  independence.  A  poor  man  in  the 
South  will  not  work  beside  negroes,  and  he  cannot  com- 
pete for  the  good  soil  with  the  great  planters;  so  he  squats 
on  the  used-up  lands,  and  sinks  lower  every  year.  And 
the  Southern  slaveholder  tells  us  that  this  is  none  of  our 
business ;  but  unfortunately  this  system  is  on  the  aggressive, 
and  we  have  come  face  to  face  with  the  fact  that  either 
we  must  put  it  down  or  prepare  to  be  put  down  by  it." 

Allan  started;  this  statement  was  familiar.  "Why  is 
that!  "he  asked. 

"Everything  that  lives  has  to  grow,"  Professor  Otis 
answered ;  * '  and  especially  is  this  true  of  Slavery.  A  slave 
is  a  very  wasteful  machine;  he  converts  into  energy  a 
very  small  percentage  of  his  fuel.  The  result  is  that  it 
pays  to  cultivate  with  slave  labor  only  the  very  finest  soil, 
and  that  superficially ;  when  you  have  raised  ten  or  twenty 
crops  of  cotton  on  a  field,  then  you  have  to  have  a  new 
field,  and  so  on  forever.  Virginia,  for  instance,  used  to 
be  a  great  exporting  State  —  it  used  to  pay  to  roll  tobacco 
in  casks  a  hundred  miles  to  market;  but  now  Virginia  is 
going  to  waste,  and  raises  hardly  enough  for  her  own  popu- 
lation—  it  does  not  pay,  because  the  demand  from  the 
South  keeps  the' price  of  slaves 'so  high.  So  in  another 
generation  it  will  be  with  Mississippi  and  Texas,  and  in 
another  with  Mexico  and  Central  America,  if  the  South 
has  her  way.  The  Mexican  War  was,  of  course,  nothing 
but  a  slaveholder's  crusade,  in  which  unprincipled  North- 
ern politicians,  like  Polk  and  Buchanan,  were  used  as  tools ; 
it  was  the  most  desperate  act  that  Slavery  has  yet  ven- 
tured, and  did  more  to  awaken  the  North  to  the  state 
of  affairs  than  all  the  Abolition  outcry  of  fifteen  years. 


THE  MORNING  73 

The  meaning  of  it  was,  of  course,  simply  that  Slavery  was 
eating  out  the  heart  of  its  present  dominion,  and  had  to 
have  more  or  die.  The  South  is  poor,  you  know,  and 
does  riot  know  the  reason. " 

Strange  to  the  boy  were  these  sentences,  throwing  light 
upon  things  difficult  to  be  understood.  "But  Yancey 
said,"  he  put  in,  "that  the  reason  was  the  tariff." 

* '  That  is  nonsense, ' '  Professor  Otis  replied.  '  '  Manufac- 
turers are  perfectly  established  in  this  country,  and  there 
is  free  competition;  except  in  special  cases  protection  can 
have  little  effect  under  such  circumstances.  I  do  not 
deny  that  the  tariff  once  hurt  the  South,  it  taxed  the 
whole  people  to  support  home  manufactures.  But  if  the 
South  lost  by  that,  it  was  simply  the  weakness  of  her 
system—that  you  cannot  make  mechanics  out  of  slaves." 

11 He  said,"  ventured  Allan  again,  "that  the  South  did 
not  want  any  manufactures. ' ' 

"Very  well,"  replied  the  other,  "but  then  the  South 
must  take  the  consequence,  which  is  simply  defeat  in  the 
race  of  life.  For  whether  Mr.  Yancey  likes  it  or  not,  it 
is  a  fact  which  no  student  would  deny,  that  the  manufac- 
turing is  a  higher  stage  of  civilization*,  than  the  agricul- 
tural; and  that  a  society  which  cannot  take  the  step  must 
simply  be  left  behind. ' ' 

They  walked  in  silence  for  a  time,  Allan's  head  in  a 
whirl.  "It  is  terrible  to  see  it  so!"  he  exclaimed.  "You 
cannot  imagine  it!  I  have  been  here  long  enough  to  see 
it ;  but  you  cannot  ever  get  the  South  to ! " 

"That  will  not  make  any  difference,"  said  the  other. 

"Ah,  but  it  will!"  cried  the  boy.  "For  they  won't 
stand  it,  they  won't  be  left  behind.  That's  just  the  thing, 
just  as  sure  as  this  war  on  Slavery  is  kept  up  they  '11  break 
up  the  Union  —  they  '11  secede ! ' ' 

The  other  looked  grave.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "I  know  all 
about  that.  But  in  the  first  place,  I  much  doubt  if  they 
will." 

"Oh,  but  Uncle  William,  you  don't  know  them!  Why, 
I  believe  Jefferson  Davis  would  carry  Mississippi  out  of 
the  Union  to-morrow  if  he  could  hear  you  talk." 


74  MANASSAS 

The  professor  smiled.  "It  will  take  a  long  time,  Allan," 
he  said,  "to  convince  me  that  all  the  South  would  follow 
him.  But  if  they  do,  why,  there  will  be  nothing  to  do 
but  bring  them  back. ' ' 

Allan  started.  "How  do  you  mean?"  he  cried.  "You 
mean  by  force  ? ' ' 

"I  surely  do,"  said  the  other. 

The  boy  stopped  short  in  his  amazement.  "You  mean 
to  conquer  the  South?"  he  gasped. 

"I  do,  "said  the  other. 

"But — but — "  Allan  could  scarcely  find  words — 
"Uncle  William,  you  can't  mean  that!  Why,  the  whole 
world  couldn  't  conquer  the  South ! ' ' 

Professor  Otis  smiled.  "Evidently  the  thought  is  new 
to  you,"  he  said.  "Dear  Allan,  some  one  ought  to  tell 
Mr.  Davis  about  it  before  it  is  too  late.  For  if  the  South 
should  try  to  break  up  this  Union,  I  do  not  see  what  an 
American  who  knew  what  his  country  means  could  do 
except  to  die  trying  to  prevent  it." 

"And  why?"  gasped  the  boy. 

' '  Simply  because  it  would  mean  the  ruin  and  the  end  of 
everything  that  we  call  American.  America  means  free- 
dom and  progress;  and  split  this  country  up,  and  you 
would  have  standing  armies  and  European  alliances;  and 
just  one  generation  of  it  would  be  enough  to  extinguish 
every  hope  and  every  ideal  that  we  Americans  live  for. 

— "I  cannot  understand,"  went  on  the  speaker,  "how 
any  thinking  man  can  expect  this  government  to  die  with- 
out a  struggle.  Look,  for  instance,  at  the  Mississippi.  Do 
you  think  the  Northwest  would  permit  a  hostile  power  to 
hold  its  mouth?  And  the  territories  —  who  would  get 
them  ?  And  the  forts  at  the  South  —  do  you  suppose  that 
any  administration  would  dare  to  give  them  up  without  a 
fight  ?  Why,  Allan,  it  is  madness ! ' ' 

"But,  Uncle  William,"  cried  the  boy,  who  was  trembling, 
"the  South  has  a  right  to  secede!" 

"Constitutionally,  you  mean?" 

"Yes." 

"I  never  heard,"  said  the  other,  "of  a  constitution  which 


THE  MORNING  75 

provided  for  its  own  death.  Of  course  the  Constitution 
says  nothing  about  it,  in  plain  words;  but  obviously  the 
idea  of  its  makers  was  to  devise  something^  to  knit  the  States 
together.  The  process  has  been  going  on 'now  for  sixty  or 
seventy  years,  and  I  assure  you,  Allan,  that  the  man  who 
assumes  it  has  failed  takes  much  for  granted.  Some  of  us 
think  that  we  are  a  nation,  with  a  nation's  work  in  the 
world  to  do;  Mr.  Davis  thinks  we  aren't,  but  don't  let  him 
make  any  mistake  about  it,  it  will  take  a  revolution  to 
prove  it,  and  revolution  is  war." 

"It  is  an  awful  thing  to  say,"  exclaimed  Allan. 

"Yes,"  the  other  answered;  "and  so  seems  this  disunion 
talk  to  me.  Very  few  men  care  for  truth,' you  know,  and 
yet  truth  is  a  terrible  goddess,  and  most  frightfully  does 
she  punish  those  who  neglect  her.  These  people  who  talk 
disunion,  they  have  grown  up  with  peace  and  liberty, 
and  they  have  forgotten  the  stern  facts  of  life.  For  these 
blessings  that  we  find  so  fair,  they  were  all  won  by  the 
blood  and  tears  of  countless  ages;  they  were  torn  out  of 
chaos  by  grim  force,  and  by  grim  force  they  were  held 
above  the  reach  of  all  the  powers  of  destruction.  This 
thing  that  you  hear  called  sovereignty,  believe  me,  it  is 
no  mere  abstraction;  it  is  the  combined  self-preservation 
instincts  of  countless  millions  of  people — of  all  their  ideals, 
and  of  all  their  traditions.  We  are  quiet-looking  men ;  but 
take  my  word  for  it,  Allan,  the  person  who  laid  a  hand  on 
this  country's  flag  to  tear  it,  would  stir  up  a  frenzy  of 
execration  in  this  one  State  —  my  boy,  I  think  every  man 
in  it  would  march  out  to  die ! ' ' 

Allan  was  striding  on,  his  head  whirling,  his  hands 
clenched  tightly  in  his  pockets.  "Conquer  the  South!" 
he  was  whispering  to  himself.  "Great  God!  Conquer 
the  South!  It  couldn't  be  done,  Uncle  William!"  he  half 
shouted,  suddenly.  "It  couldn't  be  done!" 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  the  other,  quietly.  "Goethe  says 
that  only  man  can  achieve  the  impossible.  We  have 
our  souls,  you  know,  and  they  might  rise  to  the  occasion. 
That  would  be  the  question  at  issue,  Allan  —  that  and  that 
only.  Perhaps  with  our  universities  and  presses  and  other 


76  MANASSAS 

agencies  of  light  we  could  summon  mankind  to  the  effort 
and  save  the  nation,  and  the  heritage  of  liberty  and  light 
our  fathers  left  us.  Perhaps,  on  the  other  hand,  we  should 
fail — and  have  no  more  part  in  civilization  than  the  South 
American  states. 

" — Men  who  teach  this  doctrine  of  secession  ought  to 
follow  it  to  its  end, ' '  went  on  Professor  Otis,  after  a  pause. 
"If  the  South  may  secede,  why,  then,  may  a  State  secede 
from  the  South?  I  have  read  all  these  arguments  of 
Calhoun's,  for  instance — Calhoun  admired  the  constitu- 
tion of  Poland!  Here  was  a  decentralized  government  — 
any  knight  could  rise  in  its  assembly  and  forbid  any  law, 
and  was  not  that  South  Carolina  in  full  operation?  But 
now  where  is  Poland?  You  see  what  I  mean  by  the  stern- 
ness of  things;  Poland  saw  it  in  the  end,  and  all  her 
contumacious  knights  saw  it.  We  find  everything  so  quiet 
and  peaceful,  we  forget  that  there  are  enemies  outside 
who  do  not  love  our  ways,  who  eye  us  hungrily  and  hate- 
fully, would  tear  us  to  pieces  if  they  only  dared.  And 
Mr.  Davis  wants  to  cut  us  into  convenient  sections  for 
the  benefit  of  England  and  France !" 

"My  grandfather  used  to  say  that,"  said  Allan,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"All  the  old  patriots  saw  it  perfectly,"  said  the  other. 
"And  they  all  hated  Slavery,  too.  Patrick  Henry  and 
Washington  and  Jefferson  were  every  one  of  them  Aboli- 
tionists—  all  freed  their  slaves.  But  since  then  the  cot- 
ton-gin has  been  invented,  and  now  there  is  an  oligarchy 
at  the  South  whose  power  is  based  on  Slavery,  and  whose 
attitude  toward  all  the  rest  of  the  nation  is  simply  one  of 
rule  or  ruin.  We  are  supposed  now  to  have  concluded  a 
solemn  compact ;  but  wait  and  see  how  long  before  it 
is  broken.  We  have  faithfully  kept  our  part,  even  the 
dreadful  Fugitive-slave  law;  but  see  if  I  do  not  speak 
the  truth  —  if  the  South  does  not  break  it  again  before 
long.  My  own  course  in  this  whole  matter  would  be  one 
of  utter  passiveness;  I  would  give  no  pretext  for  aggres- 
sion, I  would  only  wait.  And  if  the  South  will  only 
wait,  too,  why  the  silent,  irresistible  forces  of  civilization 


THE  MORNING  77 

will  work  out  freedom  in  another  score  of  years.  We 
have  made  sure  of  almost  all  of  the  new  territory ;  thirty- 
four  years  ago  our  fathers  saved  all  beyond  Missouri,  and 
now  we  have  California,  and  will  have  New  Mexico.  And 
every  year  emigrants  are  filling  up  those  new  lands,  and 
drawing  a  band  of  fire  close  around  Slavery.  And  if 
only  it  can  be  done  quietly  and  diplomatically,  we  shall 
have  the  ugly  fellow  caught  before  he  knows  it,  and  you 
and  I  may  sit  and  watch  him  suffocate  to  death.  I  pray 
for  that,  my  boy;  it  would  be  so  much  better  than  seces- 
sion, and  war." 

They  had  come  to  Professor  Otis's  house,  and  halted. 
"Do  you  want  me  to  go  round  home  with  you?"  he 
asked. 

"No,"  replied  Allan,  "do  not  bother." 

"Good  night,"  said  his  uncle,  and  gripped  his  hand. 
"These  are  hard  things,  I  know,  but  you  will  come 
through." 

The  boy  turned  and  hurried  away.  He  had  heard  too 
much,  his  head  was  in  a  whirl.  He  could  not  go  home  — 
instead  he  walked  on  and  on,  he  did  not  notice  where. 
He  was  going  over  and  over  those  terrible  ideas,  battling 
with  visions  of  war  and  terror.  When  he  looked  about 
him  again  he  was  back  in  the  crowded  districts  of  the  city, 
upon  brilliantly  lighted  Washington  Street,  with  its 
rows  of  shops.  "We  shall  have  the  ugly  fellow  caught 
before  he  knows  it,"  he  was  whispering  to  himself, 
"and  you  and  I  may  sit  and  watch  him  suffocate  to 
death!" 

—  Then  suddenly  he  stopped,  on  the  edge  of  a  crowd 
he  could  not  pass.  It  was  extended  beyond  the  curb- 
stone, and  he  had  started  to  go  around  it,  when  his  ear 
was  caught  by  a  word,  and  he  glanced  about  him.  The 
crowd,  murmuring  hoarsely  with  excitement,  was  crush- 
ing forward  toward  the  window  of  a  newspaper  office, 
in  front  of  which  a  bulletin-board  was  placed.  The  first 
line  of  it  the  boy  could  read,  and  his  heart  gave  a  sudden 
wild  leap.  He  plunged  in,  and  dug  his  way  forward  until 


78  MANASSAS 

he  could  see  it  all.  The  letters  as  he  read  them  seemed 
like  the  fulfilment  of  a  prophesy — all  the  things  his  uncle 
had  foretold  to  him  only  an  hour  earlier : 

MISSOURI  COMPROMISE  REPEALED!! 

Report  of  Senate  Committee  upon  Nebraska  throws  all  territories 
open  to  Slavery! 

Declares  unconstitutional  a  compact  of  thirty-four  years'  standing! 

Senator  Douglas  out  for  the  presidency — bidding  for  the  Southern 
vote! 

And  underneath  flashed  three  words  more;  the  crowd 
did  not  see  them,  but  they  danced  a  demon  dance  before 
Allan 's  eyes : — 

SECESSION,  AND  WAR! 


BOOK  II 
THE  CRISIS 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  year  1819  had  seen  the  first  dispute  about  Slavery 
in  the  halls  oi  Congress,  an  event  which,  as  Jefferson 
wrote  from  his  retreat  at  Monticello,  disturbed  him  "like 
a  fire  bell  in  the  night."  In  that  year  the  admission  of 
Missouri  as  a  slave  State  had  been  contested,  and  it  was 
finally  agreed,  as  a  compromise,  that  the  State  should  be 
admitted,  but  that  hereafter  her  southern  boundary — 
36°  30' — was  to  be  the  border-line  between  Slavery  and 
Freedom.  The  principle  of  congressional  control  of  Slav- 
ery in  the  territories  had  been  established  already  by  the 
* '  Ordinance  of  1787 ' ' ;  but  now,  while  many  of  the  found- 
ers were  still  living,  it  was  given  renewed  sanction,  the 
cabinet  of  President  Monroe,  in  which  was  John  C.  Cal- 
houn,  declaring  unanimously  the  constitutionality  of  'the 
act. 

In  February  of  1847  that  doctrine  had  first  been  im- 
pugned, by  Calhoun  nimself,  who  now  declared  that  slaves 
were  ' '  property, ' '  to  be  taken  anywhere  in  the  Federal  ter- 
ritory. This  portentous  doctrine  was  at  first  not  taken 
seriously  by  any  one.  Even  Jefferson  Davis  had  not  dared 
in  1850  to  stand  out  for  more  than  a  continuation  of  the 
Missouri  line  to  the  Pacific,  and  this  program  his  State 
had  found  too  radical.  Now,  indeed,  it  was  a  sign  of  the 
times  to  make  one  stare  when,  four  years  later,  the  wild 
doctrine  of  Calhoun  was  definitely  adopted  by  the  party 
in  power  at  "Washington! 

Part  of  the  Compromise  of  1850  was  the  arrangement 
that  Utah  and  New  Mexico  were  to  be  allowed  to  choose 
between  Slavery  and  Freedom  for  themselves.  On  the 
fourth  day  of  January,  1854,  Stephen  A.  Douglas,  chair- 
man of  the  Senate  Committee  on  Territories,  brought  in 
a  report  declaring  that  it  had  been  the  purpose  of  the 
Compromise  to  establish  this  new  principle  —  soon  to 

81 


82  MANASSAS 

be  called  " popular  sovereignty" — in  all  the  territories. 
Upon  the  general  quiet  and  satisfaction  which  had  pre- 
vailed in  the  country  ever  since  1850,  this  report  broke 
like  a  clap  of  thunder  from  a  cloudless  sky.  Men  stared 
at  each  other,  asking  what  it  could  mean.  It  was  long 
before  the  South  could  persuade  itself  that  it  was  not 
some  trick;  it  was  convinced  only  by  the  clamor  which 
filled  all  the  North,  as  soon  as  the  meaning  of  the  move 
was  perceived. 

In  that  year  there  were  four  men  hungrily  stalking  the 
next  presidential  nomination:  General  Cass,  of  Michigan, 
who  had  run  against  Taylor,  and  hoped  for  better  luck 
next  time;  Marcy,  of  New  York,  who  was  now  Secretary 
of  State  and  was  issuing  manifestoes  to  the  effete  mon- 
archies of  Europe;  Buchanan,  of  Pennsylvania,  who,  at 
the  head  of  Folk's  cabinet,  had  carried  through  the  Mexi- 
can War  conspiracy;  and,  finally,  Douglas,  of  Illinois. 

The  Democratic  party  of  that  time  was  a  combination 
of  the  siaveholding  aristocracy  of  the  South  with  the 
lowest  classes  of  the  cities  of  the  North;  and  Stephen 
Arnold  Douglas  was  a  representative  of  the  latter.  He 
was  a  public  man  about  whose  motives  there  could  be  no 
need  to  call  in  the  recording  angel  to  decide.  Master  of 
all  the  intricacies  of  the  brutal  game  of  politics,  he  played 
it  without  a  scruple  and  with  scarcely  a  pretence.  When 
he  first  came  to  Washington  he  brought  with  him  the 
manners  of  the  bar-room;  in  Congress  he  "stripped  off 
and  cast  away  his  cravat,  unbuttoned  his  waistcoat,  and 
had  the  air  and  aspect  of  a  half-naked  pugilist."  A  man 
of  enormous  energy,  vehement,  aggressive,  a  master  of 
rough-and-tumble  oratory,  of  sophistry  as  well  as  of  abuse, 
he  now  leaped  suddenly  into  the  van  and  seized  the  black 
banner  of  Slavery,  to  rush  it  to  the  fore.  North  and  west 
of  Missouri  were  vast  lands,  the  material  of  six  States; 
hungry  plotters  from  the  West  were  in  Washington,  and 
they  had  shown  him  the  way.  If  he  did  not  take  the 
chance,  some  one  else  would ;  and  behind  the  man  who  took 
it,  the  whole  South  would  rally  in  an  instant.  The  gift 
of  the  next  nomination  was  in  the  hands  of  the  South. 


THE  CRISIS  83 

The  excitement  which  the  stroke  awakened  exceeded 
anything  the  country  had  ever  known  before.  The  free- 
soil  Democrats  in  Congress  issued  a  ringing  "Appeal," 
and  press  and  pulpit  thundered  their  protests — in  every 
city  of  the  North  there  were  public  meetings,  addressed 
not  only  by  the  antislavery*  leaders,  but  by  all  those 
"  conservative "  persons  who  had  supported  the  Com- 
promise. Congress  was  deluged  with  petitions.  There 
came  one  signed  by  eighty  per  cent  of  all  the  clergymen 
of  New  England,  protesting  against  the  bill  as  "a  great 
moral  wrong,  a  measure  full  of  danger  to  the  peace,  and 
even  the  existence,  of  our  beloved  Union."  ,, 

Douglas,  being  without  moral  perception,  had  had  no 
means  of  foreseeing  these  things,  and  had  now  no  means 
of  understanding  them.  He  saw  in  them  only  the  plotting 
of  his  enemies,  and  in  his  first  defence  of  the  measure  he 
gave  on  the  Senate  floor  a  shocking  exhibition  of  brutality. 
He  must  have  perceived  very  soon  that  he  had  overshot 
the  mark — he  could,  so  he  declared,  have  travelled  from 
Boston  to  Chicago  by  the  light  of  his  own  burning  effigies. 
But  there  was  no  turning  back,  the  representatives  of  the 
South  in  Congress  were  aroused.  With  the  help  of  Jef- 
ferson Davis,  now  Secretary  of  War,  the  weak-minded 
President  was  prevailed  upon  to  make  the  bill  an  admin- 
istration measure,  and  to  bring  to  its  support  the  full 
power  of  that  legalized  bribery  known  as  "  patronage. ' J 
Douglas  himself  fought  the  fight  upon  the  Senate  floor, 
and  in  the  lobby  of  the  House,  for  four  months  and  a  half 
— a  fight  which  spectators  and  historians  have  conde- 
scended to  admire,  and  which  was  in  fact  the  most  revolt- 
ing exhibition  of  knavery  that  our  Congress  has  ever 
seen. 

"The  Fugitive  law  did  much  to  unglue  the  eyes  of 
men,"  wrote  Emerson,  "and  now  the  Nebraska  bill  leaves 
us  staring."  Never  before  had  Boston  been  so  stirred,  or 
so  unanimous ;  and  on  the  twenty-fourth  of  May,  two  days 
after  the  bill  had  been  jammed  through  the  House,  came  an 
incident  as  if  devised  to  put  its  feelings 'to  the  test — a 
negro  named  Anthony  Burns  was  arrested  in  the  city  as  a 


84  MANASSAS 

fugitive  slave.  The  news  of  it  was  like  a  handful  of  gun- 
powder flung  upon  a  fire;  the  city  was  covered  with 
placards  calling  the  people  to  arms,  and  in  Faneuil  Hall 
there  was  a  furious  meeting,  in  which  Theodore  Parker 
and  Wendell  Phillips  delivered  wild  harangues.  In  the 
midst  of  the  excitement  the  cry  was  heard  that  an  attack 
was  being  made  upon  the  court-house,  and  the  meeting, 
turned  into  a  mob  of  two  thousand,  rushed  to  assist. 
They  found  clergymen  and  negroes  battering  in  the  door 
with  axes  and  heavy  timbers,  and  in  the  struggle  which 
followed  Wentworth  Higginson  was  wounded,  and  one  of 
the  marshal's  guard  was  killed.  As  a  consequence,  two 
companies  of  artillery  were  ordered  out,  and  later  on 
marines  from  the  navy-yard,  soldiers  from  Fort  Indepen- 
dence, and  the  militia  of  Boston;  so  that  when  the  exami- 
nation of  Burns  began,  it  is  narrated  that  "the  court-house 
had  the  air  of  a  beleaguered  fortress/'  Crowds  were 
pouring  in  from  all  over  Massachusetts,  and  public  meet- 
ings were  being  held;  in  the  midst  of  it  all,  to  the  con- 
sternation of  Allan,  his  father  walked  grimly  out,  armed 
with  two  pistols,  and  had  himself  enrolled  in  the  special 
guard  of  the  marshal,  who  watched  the  prisoner  day  and 
night,  over  a  hundred  strong.  It  was  strange  company 
in  which  the  heroic  Mississippian  found  himself;  Richard 
Henry  Dana,  who  was  the  counsel  for  the  negro,  declared 
that  in  consequence  of  its  assemblage  "the  people  had  not 
felt  it  necessary  to  lock  their  doors  at  night,  the  brothels 
are  tenanted  only  by  women,  fighting-dogs  and  racing- 
horses  have  been  unemployed,  and  Ann  Street  and  its 
alleys  and  cellars  show  signs  of  a  coming  millennium." 
— It  might  be  added  that  for  this  piece  of  eloquence 
the  author-lawyer  was  waylaid  and  sandbagged  by  one 
of  the  offended  posse ! 

On  the  second  of  June  the  fugitive  was  adjudged  to  his 
owner,  and  there  remained  only  the  task  of  taking  him 
out  of  Boston.  Along  the  route  of  the  procession  win- 
dows were  draped  in  mourning  and  flags  displayed  at  half 
mast,  or  with  the  union  down ;  fifty  thousand  people  lined 
the  route,  filling  the  air  with  hisses  and  cries  of  ' l  Shame ! ' ' 


THE  CRISIS  85 

To  keep  them  in  order  the  route  was  guarded  by  the  city 
police,  and  by  twenty-two  companies  of  Massachusetts 
militia.  The  way  for  the  procession  was  cleared  by  a 
troop  of  cavalry,  and  after  it  came,  in  order,  a  United 
States  artillery  battalion,  companies  of  marines,  the 
marshal's  posse  of  one  hundred  and  twenty-four  ruffians 
and  one  Southern  gentleman,  two  more  platoons  of  ma- 
rines, and  then  a  field-piece  and  more  marines  as  guard. 
So  escorted,  the  fugitive  reached  the  wharf,  and  was  put 
on  board  of  a  United  States  revenue  cutter,  which  had 
been  ordered  by  the  President  to  take  him  to  Virginia. 

It  had  cost  the  government  forty  thousand  dollars  to 
achieve  this  feat.  One  of  its  consequences  was  the  forma- 
tion of  a  " Boston  Anti-manhunting  League,"  a  secret  as- 
sociation of  many  of  the  best-known  authors,  lawyers,  and 
clergymen  of  the  city.  Their  purpose  was  to  kidnap  any 
slave  hunters  who  might  venture  to  show  themselves  in 
Boston;  and  to  this  end  for  nearly  two  years  they  met 
regularly,  armed  with  slung-shots  and  "billies,"  and  with 
deadly  seriousness  drilled  themselves  in  all  the  tricks  of 
the  highway  man  and  the  assassin. 

Concerning  a  previous  attempt  at  Slavery  legislation  it 
had  been  observed  that  it  enacted  not  a  law,  but  a  law- 
suit. Of  the  Nebraska  bill  it  might  be  said  that  it  had 
enacted  lawlessness.  "It  puts  Freedom  and  Slavery  face 
to  face  and  bids  them  grapple, ' '  Sumner  had  said.  Appar- 
ently it  had  been  the  idea  of  Douglas,  so  far  as  he  had  an 
idea,  that  the  colonists  of  the  new  territories  were  to  dwell 
together  in  amity  until  they  had  decided  the  question  at 
the  polls;  though  indeed  it  was  by  no  means  clear 
whether  under  the  new  arrangement  they  were  to  have 
the  right  to  decide  it  but  one  way.  Keen  minds  saw  this 
question  and  asked  it — whether  the  settlers  were  to  be 
allowed  to  exclude  Slavery  if  they  chose?  Douglas  pre- 
ferred to  dodge  it;  but  the  question  was  the  crux  of  the 
whole  matter,  as  time  was  to  snow,  and  the  rock  upon  which 
his  hopes  were  to  split. 

It  proved,  however,   to  be  impossible  for  antislavery 


86  MANASSAS 

and  proslavery  settlers  to  decide  the  question  at  the  polls. 
Southerners  and  Missourians  had  not  the  least  idea  of  tak- 
ing slaves  into  the  territory,  if  the  slaves  might  possibly 
be  set  free;  and  Northern  farmers  had  no  idea  of  settling 
in  a  district  which  might  be  saddled  with  a  slave  code. 
All  men  understood  that  the  question  must  be  settled  at 
the  outset;  and  in  the  neighboring  counties  of  ^Missouri 
were  men  who  knew  which  way  the  settlement  was  to  be. 
Missouri  did  not  want  a  free  State  next  to  her,  and  she  did 
want  new  lands  for  her  sons.  Scarcely  had  the  bill  been 
signed  than  an  emigration  began — an  emigration,  as  the 
historian  of  Kansas  phrases  it,  of  '  *  amateur  emigrants,  who 
proposed  to  reside  in  Missouri,  but  to  vote  and  fight  in 
Kansas. ' '  They  complied  with  the  law  requiring  the  build- 
ing of  a  cabin,  by  nailing  up  a  few  rails,  or  "posting  a 
scrawl  claiming  proprietorship  and  threatening  to  shoot 
inter  meddlers  at  sight."  It  was  generally  believed  even 
at  the  North  that  their  measures  were  destined  to  succeed. 

But  to  a  member  of  the  Massachusetts  legislature,  Eli 
Thayer,  had  occurred  the  idea  of  meeting  the  South  on  her 
own  ground,  by  means  of  organized  emigration  to  the  ter- 
ritory. He  succeeded  in  interesting  the  antislavery  press 
and  antislavery  philanthropists  in  the  plan,  and  a  society 
was  formed;  in  the  summer  of  1854  five  companies, 
about  seven  hundred  and  fifty  men," were  sent  out  to 
Kansas,  a  proceeding  the  news  of  which  created  intense 
excitement  throughout  the  South.  It  was  reported  that 
the  company  had  five  million  dollars  capital,  and  the 
Democratic  convention  of  Georgia  described  its  stock- 
holders as  "the  paid  adventurers  and  Jesuitical  hordes 
of  Northern  Abolitionism." 

Those  whom  the  matter  immediately  concerned  did  not 
mean,  however,  to  be  balked  by  a  few  emigrants.  On 
election  day  "the  Missouri  expounders  of  popular  sover- 
eignty marched  into  Kansas  to  assist — an  unkempt,  sun- 
dried,  blatant,  picturesque  mob  of  five  thousand  men,  with 
guns  upon  their  shoulders,  revolvers  stuffing  from  their 
belts,  bowie-knives  protruding  from  their  boot-tops,  and 
generous  rations  of  whiskey  in  their  wagons."  There 


THE  CRISIS  87 

were  less  than  three  thousand  registered  voters  in  the 
territory;  there  were  six  thousand,  three  hundred  and 
seven  votes  cast.  Before  the  Congressional  Investigating 
Committee,  in  the  next  year,  testified  one  citizen  of  Platte 
County,, Missouri,  who  was  not  afraid  to  think  for  himself. 
"Whenever  there  was  an  election  in  the  territory, "  said 
he,  "they  were  fussin'  roun'  an'  gettin'  up  companies  to  go, 
an7  gettin'  horses  an*  waggins.  They  come  to  me  to  sub- 
scribe, but  I  tole  'em  that  I  was  down  on  this  thing  of 
votin'  over  in  the  territory,  an'  that  Tom  Thorpe  didn't 
subscribe  to  no  such  fixin's.  They  jawed  me  too  about  it — 
they  did;  but  I  reckon  they  found  old  Tom  Thorpe  could 
give  as  good  as  he  got.  They  told  the  boys  they  wanted 
to  make  Kansas  a  slave  State;  an'  they  told  'em  the 
Abolitionists  war  a-commin'  in;  an'  that  the  Emigrant 
Aid  Society  &  Co.  war  pitchin'  in;  an'  they'd  better  too. 
You  see,  they  took  the  boys  over,  an'  they  got  plenty 
liquor,  an'  plenty  to  eat,  an'  they  got  over  free  ferry. 
Lots  an'  slivers  on  'em  went.  There's  Dr.  Tibbs,  lives 
over  in  Platte,  he  used  to  go,  an'  you  see  they  'lected  him. 
The  boys  tole  me  one  time  when  they  come  back,  says 
they,  'We've  'lected  Dr.  Tibbs  to  the  legislature.'  An' 
says  I,  'Is  it  the  State  or  the  territory?'  'An'  says  they, 
'The  territory!'  Says  I,  'Boys,  ain't  this  a-puttin'  it  on 
too  thick?  It's  a  darned  sight  too  mean  enough  to  go 
over  there  an'  vote  for  them  fellers,  but  to  put  in  a  man 
who  don't  live  there  is  all-fired  outrageous!'  " 

Reading  of  these  events  in  the  calm  of  the  study,  it  is 
difficult  to  think  of  them  as  anything  but  farce.  Election 
judges  "held  up"  at  the  point  of  the  revolver,  and  given 
so  many  minutes  to  accept  Missouri  votes  or  be  shot; 
the  governor  of  the  territory  confronted  by  the  "elected" 
candidates,  with  weapons  in  their  hands  demanding  their 
certificates — it  is  hard  to  realize  that  these  things  were 
grimly  and  seriously  meant  by  a  sincere  and  passionate 
people.  But  behind  this  "election"  the  whole  South 
instantly  lined  up;  its  government  was  the  legally  con- 
stituted government,  to  be  supported  by  the  courts  and 


88  MANASSAS 

by  the  armies  of  the  United  States;  and  opposition  to  it 
was  treason ! 

Four  months  after  the  election  the  "legislature"  met, 
and  after  first  expelling  its  free-state  members,  proceeded 
to  pass  laws  which  should  perpetuate  their  victory.  To 
decline  to  take  oath  to  support  the  Fugitive-slave  law 
was  a  penitentiary  offence ;  to  question  the  rights  of  slave- 
holding  was  a  felony;  to  induce  a  slave  to  run  away  was 
death.  "Well  might  Sumner  exclaim  against  this  "rape 
of  a  virgin  territory ! ' ' 

The  free-state  settlers  organized  themselves,  repudiat- 
ing the  proslavery  government  —  a  move  at  which  the 
latter  jeered;  but  also  they  sent  to  the  East  for  consign- 
ments of  the  famous  "Sharp's  rifles,"  a  move  which  their 
foes  took  more  seriously.  A  sheriff  of  the  proslavery 
party  attempted  to  make  an  arrest,  and  a  rescue  and  a 
quarrel  following,  he  sent  over  to  Missouri  for  help.  The 
"border  ruffians"  turned  out  in  swarms;  by  the  first  of 
December  there  were  fifteen  hundred  of  them  in  arms,  and 
vowing  destruction  upon  Lawrence,  the  town  of  the  Emi- 
grant Aid  Company.  The  ensuing  campaign,  which  was 
known  as  the  "Wakarusa  War,"  got  as  far  as  intrenching 
and  night  skirmishing,  but  not  to  a  pitched  conflict.  It 
had  proven  easier  to  plot  dishonesty  in  the  cabinet  than 
to  enact  it  in  the  field,  and  the  first  governor  of  Kansas 
had  been  removed  —  a  procedure  which  was  to  be  forced 
twice  more  upon  the  desperate  administration.  The  new 
governor  had  an  interview  with  the  free-state  settlers,  and 
he,  too,  was  won  over  to  their  view,  that  they  had  a  right 
to  be  there.  The  Missourians  retired  in  a  rage,  and  every 
one  knew  that  the  conflict  had  been  postponed  only  for  a 
time. 

The  attention  of  the  country  was  f ocussed  upon  this 
strange  drama,  where  for  the  first  time  Freedom  and 
Slavery  confronted  each  other  in  arms.  Facing  the  new 
issue  a  new  political  organization  had  arisen,  its  platform 
the  restriction  of  Slavery  in  the  territories ;  and  this  ' '  Re-, 
publican"  party  grew  hour  by  hour,  as  men  came  to  per-' 
ceive  the  desperate  situation  of  the  free-state  settlers. 


THE  CKISIS  89 

Throughout  the  cold  months  everything  stood  still  in 
the  territory;  all  the  while,  North  and  South,  the  storm 
of  civil  war  was  gathering.  "Let  your  young  men  come 
forth  to  Missouri  and  Kansas!  Let  them  come  well 
armed!"  wrote  Atchison,  senator  from  the  former  State 
and  leader  of  the  "border  ruffians."  The  Georgia  legis- 
lature was  proposing  to  appropriate  fifty  thousand  dollars 
to  be  spent  for  arms.  In  Alabama,  a  Colonel  Buford  had 
sold  his  slaves  to  equip  a  company,  and  the  women  of 
the  South  were  selling  their  jewels  to  send  him  money. 
When  his  party  of  nearly  three  hundred  started,  Bibles 
were  subscribed  for  them  by  the  devout,  and  the  bless- 
ings of  the  church  were  solemnly  pronounced  upon  their 
enterprise.  At  the  North  there  was  even  more  prepara- 
tion; with  a  presidential  election  only  a  few  months 
away,  the  intellectual  classes  of  the  North  were  thrill- 
ing with  the  exaltation  of  a  moral  crusade. 

This  political  movement  was  the  fruition  of  deeper  ones 
which  had  preceded  it.  The  curious  reader  may  find  in 
the  life  of  Governor  Quitman  of  Mississippi  a  description 
of  how  the  North  twenty  years  before  had  impressed  an 
unregenerate  slaveholder.  He  writes  that  his  ears  have 
been  burdened  with  a  din  of  endless  discussion  about  con- 
tributions "for  the  Indians,  the  negroes,  the  Sunday- 
schools,  the  foreign  missions,  the  home  missions,  the  coloni- 
zation societies,  the  temperance  societies,  societies  for  the 
education  of  pious  young  men,"  and  so  on  for  half  a  page. 
"I  am  heartily  tired  of  the  North,"  he  said;  and  he  went 
to  Texas. 

This  same  movement  had  had  its  manifestations  in  the 
higher  realms  of  literature  and  thought,  of  which  the  Mis- 
sissippian  did  not  know.  At  Valley  Hall  on  Sunday  morn- 
ings the  family  had  been  wont  to  migrate  in  carriages  and 
on  horseback  to  the  little  evangelical  church  eight  miles 
away,  where  Allan  had  heard  all  the  mysteries  of  life 
explained  by  revelation,  and  where  he  had  been  taught  an 
ethical  code  summed  up  in  the  quaint  old  British  formula, 
— to  do  his  duty  in  that  state  of  life  into  which  it  had 


90  MANASSAS 

pleased  God  to  call  him.  But  now  he  was  eighteen,  and  a 
student  in  his  second  year  at  Harvard  College,  which  at 
that  time  was  pervaded  and  filled  full  of  the  critical  phi- 
losophy and  of  transcendentalism. 

Allan  had  read  Emerson,  and  come  to  see  that  revela- 
tions are  flowers  of  the  spirit  and  have  their  day :  a  life- 
discovery  which  meant  freedom  and  joy  to  others,  but 
had  meant  nothing  but  pain  to  him.  Always  beside  him, 
in  thought,  if  not  in  fact,  was  his  father,  greedily  jealous, 
watching  the  books  he  read  and  the  thoughts  he  thought. 
It  was  an  endless  tragedy,  for  Allan  dearly  loved  his 
father,  who  was  growing  old,  and  whose  health  the  change 
of  climate  had  not  bettered.  Captain  Montague  was 
solitary  and  irritable,  and  deeply  wronged — for  he  guessed 
these  things,  though  never  said  a  word.  It  had  proven 
the  only  way;  there  was  no  use  trying  to  persuade  him, 
Allan  had  found,  or  expecting  him  to  give  an  inch.  "You 
cannot  by  reasoning  correct  a  man/'  says  Swift,  "of  an 
ill  opinion  which  by  reason  he  never  acquired." 

In  self-defence  Allan  had  withdrawn  himself  from  the 
questions  of  the  hour,  and  wrapped  himself  in  his  studies. 
He  could  not  attend  a  political  meeting  without  annoying 
his  father,  but  he  could  read  (Jroethe  and  Shelley.  His 
aunt  and  his  two  cousins  had  at  this  time  been  abroad  for 
nearly  two  years,  and  Professor  Otis  had  recently  joined 
them ;  he  had,  therefore,  no  one  to  whom  he  could  unburden 
his  soul. 

He  had  lived  thus  for  perhaps  two  years,  entirely  aloof 
and  reserved,  before  finally  the  tacit  truce  became  too 
much  for  his  father's  patience.  It  was  in  April,  when  the 
armies  were  gathering  in  Kansas,  that  one  morning  the 
captain  had  come  rushing  into  his  son's  room,  his  face 
flushed  with  rage.  He  had  a  newspaper  clenched  in  his 
hand,  and  he  was  vowing  that  he  could  stand  it  no  longer, 
not  another  hour !  Allan  had  read  the  paper  already  and 
knew  what  it  was — a  meeting  that  had  been  held  the  pre- 
vious day  in  a  church  at  New  Haven,  attended  by  clergy- 
men and  by  professors  of  Yale  College.  After  a  fiery 


THE   CEISIS  91 

address  by  Henry  Ward  Beecher  —  which  was  given  in 
full  —  fifty  Sharp's  rifles  had  been  voted  for  a  company 
of  Kansas  emigrants. 

Allan  waited  patiently  for  this  storm  to  pass,  as  many 
others  had  passed  ;  but  he  found  that  it  was  not  to  be. 
"It  is  time  we  were  gone  home,"  cried  Captain  Mon- 
tague, suddenly,  smiting  his  cane  upon  the  ground.  "  The 
South  needs  us,  she  needs  every  voice  and  every  arm  !  A 
war  will  be  on  in  another  month,  and  we  must  be  home, 
sir,  —  home  !  " 

Allan  heard  him  with  a  startled  look.  "  Home  !  "  he 
echoed. 

"  Yes,  sir  !  "  the  other  exclaimed.  "  I  tell  you  I  have 
stood  this  thing  as  long  as  I  can  ;  I  have  waited  and  waited, 
thinking  of  you  and  of  your  studies,  and  what-not.  But 
this  is  the  climax,  it  is  the  end  —  by  Heaven,  sir,  you  will 
have  to  study  at  home,  and  what  you  can't  find  there  you 
must  do  without.  I  will  not  stand  these  infamous  North- 
ern papers,  I  will  not  stand  these  people  !  I  want  to  be 
among  my  own  people,  where  I  belong,  and  where  I  am  not 
insulted  every  hour  of  my  life.  God,  sir,  I  tell  you  I  wish 
I  were  home  to-day,  to  talk  to  the  people  of  Mississippi  ! 
What  is  the  matter  with  them  ?  What  can  they  mean  ? 
What  does  Hamilton  mean,  that  he  and  his  boys  are  not 
up  there  in  Kansas  now?  Why,  these  scoundrels  will 
have  the  South  throttled  before  ever  she  can  stir  !  " 

And  so  the  old  gentleman  stormed  on,  striding  up  and 
down  the  floor  in  spite  of  his  lame  knee,  breaking  his  cane 
in  his  rage.  To  Allan's  dismay  it  became  more  and  more 
apparent  that  it  was  all  no  mere  passing  fancy,  but  a  reso- 
lution which  had  been  forming  in  his  mind  for  many 
months.  "  We  are  going  home,  sir  !  "  he  shouted,  again 
and  again,  to  every  objection  that  Allan  attempted. 

It  was  a  bitter  hour  for  the  young  student,  meaning 
as  it  did  a  complete  overthrow  of  his  every  plan  ;  but  he 
fought  the  fight  swiftly,  and  silently  as  ever,  burning  all 
his  own  smoke.  He  believed  that  his  duty  was  with  his 
father  to  the  end  ;  and  before  the  other's  passion  had  half 


92  MANASSAS 

calmed  down  he  was  saying,  "  Very  well,  sir,  let  it  be  as 
you  think  best." 

And  scarcely  two  weeks  more  had  passed  before,  hav- 
ing bid  farewell  to  his  college  friends,  and  parted  with 
everything  save  his  books,  he  was  driven  to  the  depot  one 
raw  and  damp  April  morning,  and  took  his  last  glance  at 
Boston  through  the  windows  of  a  flying  train.  "  They 
change  their  skies,"  says  Horace,  "  who  travel  over  seas, 
but  they  do  not  change  their  minds." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  travellers  met  with  an  adventure  at  the  outset : 
at  one  of  the  smaller  towns  on  the  road  they  found  the 
station  platform  crowded  with  a  cheering  throng,  and  a 
score  or  so  of  stalwart  men  boarded  the  train,  loaded  with 
knapsacks  and  blankets,  and  with  canvas-covered  rifles  in 
their  hands.  Captain  Montague  sat  and  bit  his  lip  while 
they  sang  through  the  stirring  song  which  the  poet  Whit- 
tier  had  written  for  them  :  — 

"  We  cross  the  prairie  as  of  old 

The  pilgrims  crossed  the  sea ; 
To  make  the  West,  as  they  the  East, 
The  homestead  of  the  free ! " 

The  two  left  the  train  not  long  after  that,  the  father 
preferring  to  lose  a  day  rather  than  witness  the  ovations 
these  men  received.  "Never  mind,"  he  vowed  as  the 
train  sped  on,  "you  may  see  me  again  before  long."  At 
that  time  he  was  seriously  meditating  heading  a  Kansas 
company  himself,  though  this  was  a  project  about  which 
his  son  did  venture  to  speak  his  mind. 

They  went  by  way  of  Cleveland  and  Cincinnati  and  the 
Ohio  River,  a  long  and  tedious  journey  then,  but  full  of 
interest  to  Allan,  to  whom  the  new  West  was  a  place  of 
romance.  It  was  the  season  of  spring  floods,  and  the  river 
was  turbid  and  yellow  ;  they  had  a  passage  swift,  if  peril- 
ous. Those  were  the  palmy  days  of  the  Mississippi  steam- 
boat, when  the  rival  lines  of  the  tall,  double-stacked  vessels 
ran  races,  and  city  after  city  turned  out  to  cheer  the  victor. 
A  "nigger"  always  sat  on  the  safety-valve,  if  tradition 
may  be  believed  ;  and  if  you  did  not  blow  out  your  boiler- 
head  or  drive  upon  a  sunken  snag,  you  reached  your  desti- 
nation. Meanwhile  gambling  went  on  in  its  saloons  day 
and  night,  and  "shooting  matches"  were  an  occasional 
incident. 


94  MANASSAS 

It  seemed  strange  to  be  gazing  at  last  at  the  shores  of 
Missouri,  the  scene  of  the  pending  struggle.  On  board 
men  discussed  the  situation  all  day,  with  loud  voices, 
aggressive  proslavery  opinion  being  the  only  kind  which 
showed  itself.  At  Cairo  had  come  the  thrilling  tidings 
that  "  Sheriff  Jones,"  the  hero  of  the  Wakarusa  War,  had 
been  shot  in  the  back  while  making  an  arrest  in  Law- 
rence ;  also  that  Judge  Lecompte,  chief  justice  of  the 
territory,  had  just  charged  the  grand  jury  to  bring  indict- 
ments for  treason  against  the  free-state  leaders.  All 
agreed  that  these  things  made  a  fight  a  question  only  of 
days. 

Of  painful  interest  to  Allan  was  a  sight  he  had  wit- 
nessed twice  since  they  had  entered  Southern  territory,  — 
a  coffle  of  slaves  coming  on  board,  bound  for  the  far  South. 
It  had  been  long  since  Allan  had  seen  a  slave,  and  the 
thing  gave  him  a  disagreeable  start.  In  the  first  party 
there  were  perhaps  thirty,  all  men  and  youths — "prime 
field-hands,",  as  the  slang  had  it  —  fastened  on  either  side 
of  a  long  chain  which  they  carried  with  them.  Beside 
them  walked  two  white  men,  one  armed  with  a  cowskin 
whip,  a  weapon  about  three  feet  long,  an  inch  thick  at  the 
butt,  and  tapering  to  a  point,  stiff  and  springy ;  it  was 
red  painted,  new  and  shining,  and  with  it  he  cut  the  air 
playfully  as  he  walked,  the  whistle  of  it  being  sufficient 
to  make  the  negroes  "  step  lively "  up  the  gang-plank. 
Painful  was  the  contrast  between  the  alacrity  of  their 
motions  and  the  crushed  despair  which  sat  upon  their 
faces. 

The  other  party  consisted  of  several  families,  the  women 
with  bright  turbans  and  numerous  bundles  and  babies. 
They  were  unchained,  but  attended  by  a  bustling  little 
man  who  watched  them  closely  ;  it  seemed  strange  to  see 
him  striving  to  keep  warmly  wrapped  a  little  girl  who 
was  torn  with  a  racking  cough,  and  prodding  her  listless 
mother  with  remarks  as  to  the  child's  value.  These 
negroes  were  left  with  the  baggage,  and  camped  in  the 
midst  of  promiscuous  heaps  of  saddles  and  trunks. 

At  Columbus,  Kentucky,  other  slaves  came  on  board, 


THE  CRISIS  95 

but  Allan  did  not  notice  them.  Perhaps  an  hour  after 
the  boat  had  left  the  city,  he  observed  his  father  in  con- 
versation with  a  man  whose  face  seemed  familiar;  draw- 
ing near  unobserved,  he  recognized  him  as  the  overseer 
of  a  plantation  not  far  from  Valley  Hall,  belonging  to  a 
family  by  the  name  of  Roberts.  Allan  had  no  desire  to 
meet  the  man,  whose  reputation  as  an  overseer  —  he  was 
a  "  Yankee  "  —  was  not  good.  He  turned  away,  after 
noticing  with  some  surprise  that  his  father  was  in  seem- 
ingly intimate  conversation  with  him. 

It  was  a  couple  of  hours  before  Captain  Montague 
again  joined  his  son,  his  manner  one  of  suppressed  excite- 
ment. "  Did  you  see  that  man  I  was  talking  to  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  I  took  it  to  be  Jim  Henderson,"  said  Allan. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  other.  "  And  you  should  just  have 
heard  the  story  he  tells." 

"  You  can't  believe  a  word  he  says,  father,"  said  Allan. 

"  I  believe  this,"  exclaimed  Captain  Montague,  "  and 
a  pretty  story  it  makes  !  Did  you  notice  that  yellow  boy 
he  brought  on  board  with  him  ?  You  must  look  at  him  — 
a  regular  giant  —  a  six-footer,  and  looks  like  a  statue. 
Henderson's  just  brought  him  down  from  Cincinnati, 
and  will  you  believe  it,  that  he  had  to  have  him  kid- 
napped? " 

"  Kidnapped  !  "  echoed  Allan. 

"  Kidnapped,  sir.  Thumped  over  the  head  by  two 
rowdies,  and  piled  into  a  cart,  and  taken  over  the  Ohio 
in  a  skiff.  And  I  tell  you,  things  have  come  to  a  pass 
when  a  man  has  to  go  over  into  a  free  State  and  take 
measures  like  that  to  get  his  property." 

"I  don't  understand  you,  father,"  said  the  boy,  in 
amazement.  "How  was  he  Henderson's  property?" 

"  A  runaway,  sir  —  a  runaway  !  He  left  Major  Roberts's 
place  nearly  a  month  ago,  and  Henderson's  been  tracing 
him  ever  since.  Said  he  was  bound  to  get  him,  if  it  was 
only  for  the  satisfaction ;  a  regular  devil  he  is,  you  can 
see  it  in  his  eyes.  He  claims  to  have  been  a  free  nigger, 
somehow  —  over  in  Maryland.  Tried  to  hit  Henderson 


96  MANASSAS 

over  the  head  once  with  a  barrel-stave,  and  got  a  bullet  in 
his  shoulders  that  laid  him  out  for  three  months.  Hender- 
son caught  him  in  Cincinnati,  just  getting  ready  to  skip 
to  Canada,  too,  he  told  me." 

"  But  I  don't  understand  yet,"  put  in  the  boy ;  "  why 
kidnap  him  ?  " 

"  Because  it  was  the  only  thing  to  do,  with  those  infer- 
nal Abolitionists  in  Cincinnati.  He  says  that  since  the 
Kansas  business  they've  been  vowing  that  not  another 
slave  shall  ever  be  returned.  They  might  have  kept  him 
a  year  at  it  with  their  legal  processes." 

"  A  pretty  risky  business,  kidnapping,  I  should  think," 
Allan  managed  to  say. 

"  Risky  ?  Why,  suppose  one  of  those  fellows  had  be- 
trayed him,  Henderson  might  have  gotten  locked  up 
for  ten  years  !  And  to  such  lengths  the  South  has  to  go 
to  secure  her  constitutional  rights  !  " 

It  was  all  Allan  could  do  to  suppress  his  emotion ;  but 
he  listened  quietly  while  his  father  went  on  to  give  the 
details  of  the  story,  and  to  pour  out  his  pent-up  indig- 
nation. Many  times  a  day  now,  as  it  seemed  to  his  son, 
the  captain  was  wont  to  wonder  how  much  more  the  South 
would  consent  to  endure. 

Smitten  with  a  trembling,  he  made  his  escape  at  the  first 
opportunity  and  sought  the  forepart  of  the  boat  where  the 
negroes  were  kept.  He  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing 
the  man  from  the  description  that  had  been  given  him  — 
"  Dutch  Joe  "  he  was  called,  no  ^doubt  from  the  national- 
ity of  his  father.  He  was  a  huge  mulatto,  an  athlete  in 
build,  with  great  bull-neck  and  heavy  sullen  face.  It  was 
late  afternoon  of  a  raw  day,  and  about  him  the  negroes 
were  crouched  shivering ;  but  though  his  shirt  was  torn 
and  his  throat  and  chest  laid  bare,  he  seemed  not  to  be 
aware  of  the  cold.  His  hands  were  chained  in  front  of 
him,  and  a  chain  with  a  ball  attached  bound  his  leg. 
Sitting  upon  a  box,  and  leaning  against  the  side  of  another, 
his  dull  glance  fixed  upon  vacancy,  he  paid  no  heed  to 
Allan ;  the  boy  stared  at  the  motionless  figure,  which  to  his 


THE  CRISIS  97 

startled  fancy  seemed  the  very  type  and  image  of  human 
bondage.  He  gazed  at  the  giant  shoulders,  bowed  and 
crushed  ;  at  the  face,  with  its  smouldering  hatred  and 
defiance ;  and  thinking  of  his  father's  quiet  sentence,  — 
"  Claims  to  have  been  a  free  nigger,  somehow,  over  in 
Maryland,"  —  again  and  again  turned  away  with  pain  that 
was  not  to  be  borne. 

It  was  two  days  more  before  they  reached  their  destina- 
tion ;  during  that  time  scarcely  an  hour  had  passed  that 
Allan  did  not  go  and  stare  at  the  slave.  Once  or  twice 
he  saw  him  eating.  His  meals  had  been  set  before  him 
on  a  tin  plate,  like  an  animal's ;  he  ate  mechanically,  not 
seeming  to  notice  what  it  was.  For  the  rest  of  the  time 
he  sat  motionless,  with  his  dull,  fixed  stare.  Never  once 
did  he  notice  Allan. 

Besides  Henderson,  the  overseer,  who  was  a  coarse- 
featured  man  whose  drooping  black  mustache  seemed 
always  to  have  been  just  moistened  with  liquor,  and  who 
lifted  his  hat  to  Allan  and  sought  in  vain  to  enter  into 
conversation,  there  was  another  man  who  seemed  inter- 
ested in  "  Dutch  Joe."  Allan  saw  him  looking  at  him  on 
two  occasions,  and  on  a  third  he  turned  away  as  Allan 
approached,  causing  the  latter  to  wonder  if  the  man  had 
not  been  speaking  to  the  negro.  Allan  had  noticed  this 
passenger  just  after  they  had  left  Columbus,  a  young  fellow 
of  about  twenty  two  or  three,  a  Westerner  in  his  every 
feature,  tall  and  big-boned,  with  lean  and  lanky  face  and 
a  great  jaw  which  worked  incessantly  as  he  chewed  and 
vehemently  spat  tobacco.  For  the  greater  part  of  the 
time  he  strode  back  and  forth  upon  the  deck,  holding  his 
head  high  and  shooting  swift  glances  around  him,  as  if  he 
were  out  on  a  prairie  in  the  midst  of  Indians  and  game. 
Something  in  the  man's  very  carriage  seemed  to  tell  Allan 
that  his  was  a  different  point  of  view  from  that  of  the 
others  on  the  steamer ;  and  once  when  he  saw  him  lean- 
ing upon  the  rail  and  gazing  at  the  shore,  he  approached 
and  tried  to  open  a  conversation.^  To  his  remark,  how- 
ever, the  Westerner  replied  only  with  a  monosyllable,  and 
then  moved  away. 


98  MANASSAS 

The  last  day  had  come  —  they  were  due  at  Natchez  at 
noon ;  and  Allan's  preoccupation  with  the  unhappy  negro 
proved  at  last  enough  to  overcome  even  his  repugnance  to 
the  overseer.  "  Jim  "  Henderson  had  once  been  a  gentle- 
man, but  dissipation  had  played  havoc  with  his  features, 
and  years  of  drill  in  social  inferiority  had  taught  him  the 
manners  of  a  hound.  When  he  spoke  to  you,  his  mouth 
became  set  in  a  kind  of  deprecatory  grin. 

"  Do  you  get  off  at  Natchez  ?  "  Allan  asked  him,  as  he 
stood  chewing  on  a  cigar-stump  and  eying  his  prisoner. 

"  Clarke's  Landing,  sir,"  said  the  other ;  "  got  a  horse 
there." 

"  Going  to  sell  that  boy  ?  "  continued  Allan.  (A  slave 
remained  a  "boy"  until  he  became  an  "uncle.") 

"No,  sir — not  exactly,"  laughed  the  man.  "Hardly 
paid  me  for  that — cost  more  to  get  him  than  he's  worth. 
I  wanted  him  to  make  an  example  of." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  him  ?  " 

"Just  ugly,  sir;  the  very  devil  in  him.  You  can  see 
that,  I  reckon,  in  his  face ;  he's  the  wildest  nigger  I  ever 
got  my  hands  on,  and  I've  had  quite  some  experience. 
But,  by  gad,  Mr.  Montague,  I'm  going  to  break  him !  " 

"  Father  said  something  about  his  claiming  to  have  been 
a  free  negro." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Henderson ;  "  story's  true,  I  guess.  He 
says  he  lived  in  Pennsylvania,  and  came  into  Maryland 
with  a  load  of  wood  to  sell.  They  don't  allow  free  nig- 
gers to  come  into  Maryland,  you  know  —  arrested  him, 
and  locked  him  up,  and  sold  him  to  pay  jail  fees." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Allan.     "  Is  that  the  way  they  do  ?  " 

"That's  the  way  they  serve  'em,  sir;  wouldn't  do  to 
have  free  niggers  moving  round,  you  understand." 

"  And  you  bought  him  in  Maryland  ?  " 

"I  didn't  buy  him  at  all;  I  wouldn't  buy  any  sulky 
niggers.  But  when  they  come  our  way,  we  have  to  handle 
'em,  you  know,  sir.  Major  Roberts  bought  this  fellow  from 
a  dealer  in  Baton  Rouge  —  paid  fifteen  hundred  for  him, 
too.  He's  a  first-rate  carpenter,  when  you  can  get  him  to 
work." 


THE  CRISIS  99 

"Did  Major  Roberts  know  he  claimed  to  have  been 
free  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  other,  "  but  the  trader  had  a  good 
title.  He  was  kind  of  sorry,  though,  after  the  boy  had 
tried  to  brain  me.  Wanted  to  sell  him  then,  but  my  blood 
was  up,  I  tell  you  —  a  man  in  my  business  can't  afford  to 
let  a  nigger  down  him,  sir." 

"  He  looks  like  a  dangerous  fellow,"  ventured  Allan. 

"  I'll  fix  him,"  laughed  Henderson,  grimly. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?     Whip  him  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  man,  "  whipping  don't  do  any  good. 
Why,  good  God,  I've  whipped  that  nigger  till  his  back 
looked  like  a  skinned  ox,  but  it  didn't  matter  —  couldn't 
even  get  a  groan  out  of  him.  You  see  he  broods  and 
fights  —  they  say  he  left  a  family  up  in  Pennsylvania,  and 
that's  what's  the  matter  with  him." 

Allan  shrank  involuntarily.     "  Oh !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,"  said  Henderson,  without  noticing  his  change  of 
tone ;  "  but  I'm  going  to  keep  that  chain  on  him,  and  put 
him  out  in  the  field  and  work  him  a  couple  of  weeks.  I'll 
stand  over  him  myself,  and  chain  him  up  at  night,  and 
feed  him  kinder  slender,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  broke 
him  in  the  end.  'Tain't  in  nature,  you  know,  for  a  nigger 
to  stand  everything." 

"No,"  said  Allan,  "I  suppose  not." 

And  then  he  turned  abruptly  and  strode  away,  leaving 
the  man  staring  after  him  in  perplexity.  Allan  was  white 
about  the  lips. 


CHAPTER  III 

THEY  landed  at  Natchez  and  he  forgot  his  pain  for  a 
time.  There  upon  the  wharf,  amid  a  crowd  of  wagons 
and  freight,  rapturous  with  delight  and  welcome,  was 
Taylor  Tibbs,  Jr.,  with  the  coach.  (The  elder  Tibbs  had 
dropped  dead  of  apoplexy  one  day  in  the  dining  room.) 
Soon  they  were  at  a  gallop  down  the  familiar  road,  mak- 
ing the  sand  fly  behind  them ;  snow  and  raw  winds  were 
gone,  the  balm  of  a  Southern  springtime  wrapped  them, 
and  a  riot  of  blossoms  strewed  the  way.  As  they  sped 
on,  faster  and  faster,  every  other  thought  was  driven  from 
Allan's  mind  by  the  thought  of  Valley  Hall.  The  two 
gazed  about  them,  become  suddenly  as  eager  and  voluble 
as  schoolboys. 

They  had  ridden  about  two  hours  —  the  landscape 
was  growing  homelike  —  when  there  came  from  afar  the 
sound  of  galloping  hoof  beats,  and  ahead  of  them,  far 
down  the  road,  they  saw  two  riders  approaching  in  a 
cloud  of  dust.  They  were  racing,  bending  over  their 
horses'  necks,  and  lashing  them  like  mad.  The  coach 
passed  down  into  a  hollow,  and  then  as  it  labored  up 
the  opposite  slope,  the  riders  burst  suddenly  over  the 
brow  of  the  hill.  They  came  with  the  sweep  of  a  tornado 
and  a  thunder  of  hoofs,  the  horses  with  nostrils  distended 
and  manes  flying  wildly.  In  another  instant  they  would 
have  been  past,  but  one  of  them  glanced  up,  and  spying 
the  coach,  drew  rein,  with  such  force  as  to  cause  his 
horse  to  rear  and  slide  along  in  a  whirl  of  dust.  An 
instant  more,  as  it  seemed,  the  coach  having  stopped 
also,  the  rider  was  leaning  over  and  stretching  out  his 
hand,  shouting,  "  By  the  great  Jehoshaphat,  but  here  they 
are  ! " 

Allan  stared.  He  saw  before  him  a  huge  man  about 

100 


THE   CKISIS  101 

six  feet  in  height,  with  coal-black  hair  and  eyes,  and  a 
face  ablaze  with  laughter.  He  caught  his  breath  and 
panted  in  wonder,  "It's  'Dolph!  " 

"  Well  guessed  !"  laughed  the  latter.     "  'Dolph  it  is  !  " 

And  then  at  the  other  side  of  the  coach  appeared  the 
other  rider,  having  succeeded  in  turning  his  horse.  He 
was  nearly  as  big,  and  Allan  gasped  again,  realizing  that 
this  was  the  quiet  and  timid  little  Ralph.  "  My  soul,  how 
you  have  grown  I  "  he  ejaculated. 

"Did  you  think  we  were  pickled?"  laughed  'Dolph, 
seizing  his  cousin's  hand  in  his  huge  paw,  and  giving  it  a 
squeeze  like  a  grizzly  bear.  "  I  wouldn't  have  known  you 
either,  only  for  Uncle  Harry.  How  are  you,  Uncle  Harry 
—  how's  the  knee?" 

"  Bad  as  ever,"  said  Captain  Montague,  "  bad  as  ever, 
'Dolph.  But  Heaven  help  us,  what  men  you  have  grown 
up  to  !  " 

Randolph  laughed  while  they  gazed  at  him,  looking 
him  over  from  head  to  foot ;  irresistibly  he  drew  their 
glances  from  his  quieter  brother.  He  was  a  giant,  and 
his  face  was  an  inspiration,  his  black  eyes  snapping  and 
sparkling,  his  white  teeth  gleaming,  his  whole  counte- 
nance aglow  ;  when  the  big,  handsome  fellow  laughed, 
the  woods  rang. 

"  Meant  to  meet  you,  Uncle  Harry,"  said  he  ;  "  swear 
to  God  we  did ;  but  you  know  those  boats  are  always 
late,  except  when  you  count  on  it.  But,  oh  say,  we're 
awfully  glad  to  see  you  ! " 

"  Glad  to  be  home,  'Dolph,"  said  the  captain.  "  Glad, 
indeed,  I  tell  you.  How  are  the  folks  ?  " 

"  Everybody  flourishing,"  said  'Dolph,  "  and  all  out 
on  the  portico  waiting  for  you.  And  say,  Allan,  you 
talk  about  growing,  wait  until  you  see  Ethel." 

"  She's  taller  than  you,  I  think,"  put  in  Ralph ;  "  a 
regular  stunner  ! " 

Allan  looked  at  Ralph  ;  he  was  the  image  of  his  father, 
grave  and  silent,  even  at  eighteen.  "  'Dolph  must  be 
twenty-one,  now,"  Allan  exclaimed. 

"  Twenty-one  last  month,"  said  'Dolph.     "  Had  a  party, 


102  MANASSAS 

and  raised  Cain,  and  then  came  home  at  midnight  and 
scared  every  one  to  death,  shouting  there  was  a  man  in 
the  house." 

"  And  hung  your  hat  over  the  lamp,"  said  Ralph, 
grimly.  "  You  better  not  tell  that  story  !  " 

The  carriage  had  started  up  again,  and  the  four  rode 
on  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  gazing  at  one  another, 
and  trying  to  realize  six  years  of  change.  "I  suppose 
you've  all  come  back  Abolitionists  I "  said  'Dolph, 
suddenly. 

"  Yes,"  indeed  ! "  said  Captain  Montague,  and  then  went 
on  hastily :  "  but  look  here,  why  aren't  you  boys  in 
Kansas  ?  " 

"  Wanted  to  go,"  said  'Dolph  ;  "  Sam  Mason's  gone,  for 
one;  but  the  governor  wouldn't  let  us." 

"  Wouldn't  let  you  ! "  exclaimed  the  other. 

"Governor's  got  the  sulks,"  Randolph  answered; 
"won't  have  anything  to  do  with  it." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Captain  Montague. 
"You  mean  he  doesn't  care  if  the  North  gets  Kansas?" 

"  Not  a  bit.  He  says  you  might  as  well  try  to  send 
slaves  to  Greenland  as  to  Kansas.  Cuba  and  Mexico  are 
the  places  for  slaves,  he  says." 

"  But  good  Lord,  'Dolph,  the  North  will  own  the  coun- 
try if  we  don't  fight  them." 

"  What  do  we  care  about  the  country  ?  You  see,  Uncle 
Harry,  father's  bent  on  getting  out,  and  he's  mad  that 
our  people  bear  so  much.  He  says  that  for  his  part  he's 
not  going  to  do  a  thing  but  sit  back  and  wait,  and  let 
them  go  on  slapping  our  face  until  we  do  finally  get 
mad." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Captain  Montague.  "  Instead  of 
slapping  our  face,  they  will  cut  our  throat." 

They  rode  on  without  speaking,  for  a  moment;  Ran- 
dolph and  his  horse  seemed  to  be  one,  the  latter  thrilling 
with  the  rider's  good  spirits.  Suddenly  Randolph  turned, 
and  with  a  gleam  of  fun  shooting  across  his  face,  ex- 
claimed, "  By  the  Lord,  I  forgot !  How  about  the 
nigger?" 


THE   CRISIS  103 

"What  nigger?"  asked  Allan,  in  perplexity. 

"  The  one  in  Natchez.     Didn't  they  send  us  any  word?  " 

"No,"  said  Allan;  "don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"Oh,  the  devil!  "  exclaimed  'Dolph.  "  Why,  the  last 
thing  they  said  to  me  yesterday  at  the  hotel  was  that 
they'd  send  a  man  to  the  dock  to  meet  you  and  send  us  a 
message." 

"  They  didn't  do  it,"  said  Captain  Montague.  "  What's 
it  about?" 

Randolph  and  his  brother  exchanged  mischievous 
glances,  and  the  former  broke  out  with  his  pealing  laugh. 
"  It's  a  story,"  he  said,  "  a  whole  story !  " 

"  Out  with  it,"  said  his  uncle. 

'Dolph's  horse  shied  at  a  bunch  of  leaves  in  the  road 
and  received  a  cut  which  made  him  caper.  "  It's  about 
Charlie  Mason  and  Jim  Powell,"  said  the  rider,  without 
heeding  the  disturbance.  "Do  you  remember  Charlie, 
Allan?" 

"  The  little  chap  with  golden  curls?  " 

"  Yes,  but  he's  grown  up  now  and  shed  his  curls,  and 
gets  drunk  as  a  major  and  runs  off  to  New  Orleans  and 
gambles  his  allowance  away.  We  were  having  a  celebra- 
tion at  the  hotel  last  night  —  Jim  Powell's  going  up  into 
Tennessee  to  get  married,  and  we  gave  him  a  send-off. 
They  sent  in  a  little  yellow  boy  to  hand  the  punch,  and 
hang  me,  if  we  didn't  wait  an  hour  for  it  and  then  see  the 
fellow  drop  it  all  and  lay  down  on  the  floor  and  have  a 
fit  !  By  thunder  !  you  never  saw  such  a  mess  of  punch 
and  crockery  and  nigger  since  the  Lord  made  you  ;  it 
did  beat  all  Harry,  you  know  —  and  then  in  the  midst  of 
it  there  goes  old  Charlie  Mason,  half  full  already,  bending 
over  the  boy  and  feeling  his  pulse  and  examining  him. 
You'll  soon  know  how  Charlie  is  ;  there  isn't  a  thing  in 
the  world  he  doesn't  know,  when  you  get  him  tight.  '  I 
know  about  niggers,'  says  he,  with  a  hiccough,  *  you  can't 
fool  me  —  that's  a  dead  nigger,  sure  as  you're  born.'  And 
then  up  jumps  Jim  Powell.  '  Bet  you  a  hundred  you're 
mistaken,'  cries  he.  4  Make  it  two  hundred,'  says  Charlie. 
'Make  it  three,'  chimes  in  Ben  Davis,  'and  give  me  one.' 


104  MANASSAS 

And  so  I'm  hanged  if  they  didn't  all  set  to  work  making 
bets  on  it,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  here  comes  Williamson 
rushing  in,  — Williamson  runs  the  hotel  now,  —  yelling  for 
some  hot  water  and  for  somebody  to  go  and  get  the  doc- 
tor. 4  Hold  up  there ! '  says  Charlie,  mad  in  a  moment. 
1  Don't  you  go  touchin'  that  nigger  ;  I've  got  six  hundred 
dollars  on  that  nigger  !  Let  that  damned  nigger  alone  !  ' 
And  then  such  a  time  as  there  was  you  never  saw.  You 
can  imagine  what  Williamson  looked  like.  '  But,  gentle- 
men, I  can't  let  my  boy  die,  can  I  ?  You  can't  expect  me 
to  let  a  valuable  servant  die,  can  you  ? '  —  *  What's  your 
confounded  servant  worth?'  cries  Charlie.  4I  paid  nine 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  him,  Mr.  Mason,'  says  Will- 
iamson. 4  Nine  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  in  New  Orleans 
last  year.'  —  'Nine  hundred  and  fifty  dollars!'  cries 
Charlie.  '  And  for  that  wizened-up  little  leather-colored 
monkey,  and  has  fits  besides  ! '  -  - 4  Didn't  know  he  had  fits, 
sir,  'pon  honor  I  didn't,  Mr.  Mason ! '  — 4  Ought  to  have 
sued,  sir,'  shouts  Charlie;  lby  the  gods,  you  ought  to 
have  sued !  You  were  swindled  on  him,  I  leave  it  to 
these  gentlemen  if  you  weren't ;  don't  you  hear  what 
they  say  ?  I'll  give  you  eight  hundred  for  that  nigger, 
just  as  he  lies,  and  he'll  be  dead  in  half  an  hour.  Eight 
hundred  is  all  I've  got,  but  I'm  going  to  win  those  bets  if 
I  have  to  sell  my  horse  ! '  -  - 4  Well,  Mr.  Mason,'  says  the 
man,  4 1  don't  like  to  disappoint  you  —  4  Done,'  cries 
Charlie.  4  Done  for  eight  hundred !  And  now,  boys,  how's 
the  nigger  ? ' 

"  All  the  while,  of  course,  the  nigger  had  been  rolling 
and  kicking  and  frothing  ;  gad,  sir,  he'd  kick  himself 
halfway  round  the  room  in  one  spasm,  I  never  saw  any- 
thing like  it  in  my  life.  They  ordered  more  punch  and  set 
to  work  to  watch  it  out.  Charlie  got  drunker  and  drunker, 
of  course  —  that  fellow'd  drink  at  his  grandmother's 
funeral,  I  think;  but  the  plagued  nigger  just  wouldn't 
die.  Never  heard  of  such  a  nigger,  sir,  'pon  my  soul ;  he'd 
have  been  a  bargain  at  a  thousand  —  the  toughest  nigger 
you  ever  laid  your  eyes  on  !  We  stuck  it  out  till  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  he  was  just  as  bad  as  ever ;  it 


THE   CRISIS  105 

wasn't  any  use  —  Ralph  and  I  couldn't  stand  it  any  more, 
and  we  quit.  So  we've  no  idea  how  it  turned  out  —  but 
we  left  Charlie  Mason  vowing  he'd  stay  if  the  fit  lasted  a 
week." 

While  Randolph  told  this  story  he  was  wilder  than  the 
story.  He  cantered  alongside  the  coach,  talking  loud  to 
make  his  words  heard,  and  his  glee  was  like  a  whirlwind. 
At  every  good  point  he  would  catch  his  brother's  eye  and 
the  two  would  shout  in  unison,  and  the  woods  would  echo. 
Allan  had  been  trained  at  the  North,  and  his  imagination 
was  more  timid.  He  was  staring,  and  he  scarcely  heard 
what  else  his  cousins  said,  and  came  to  with  a  sudden 
start  as  the  carriage  swung  round  a  turn,  and  'Dolph 
leaned  over,  shouting  gayly,  and  gave  the  horses  a  cut  with 
his  whip  that  made  them  leap  like  mad.  Then  the  two 
went  tearing  ahead,  the  elder  waving  his  hat  as  they 
burst  suddenly  from  the  thicket  and  thundered  across  a 
bridge  and  swept  into  view  of  a  long  avenue,  at  the  head 
of  which  gleamed  the  snow-white  front  of  Valley  Hall. 

"  Here  they  are  !  "  he  yelled,  already  halfway  to  the 
house.  "Here  they  are  !  We  got  'em,  and  Allan's 
turned  Abolitionist  —  I  can  see  it  in  his  face  !  " 


CHAPTER   IV 

BESIDES  the  troops  of  negroes  who  poured  out  of  the 
house  and  from  every  building  far  and  near,  there  stood 
four  persons  to  welcome  them.  There  was  Hamilton 
Montague,  his  grave  face  lighted  with  welcome,  coming 
down  the  steps  with  arms  stretched  out ;  there  was  Mrs. 
Montague,  rounder  and  rosier  than  ever,  crying  out  in 
wonder  at  the  sight  of  Allan  grown  up,  and  flinging  her 
arms  around  him  and  kissing  him ;  there  was  Uncle  Ben 
Handy,  gay  as  ever,  and  not  a  day  older,  only  with  a 
redder  nose  ;  and  last  of  all,  standing  upon  the  portico, 
waiting  serenely,  was  Ethel.  She  was  but  sixteen,  and 
he  imagined  a  girl  whom  he  might  hug  and  kiss.  Instead 
he  almost  feared  to  take  her  hand,  she  was  so  very  stately. 

Then  there  were  the  horses,  and  the  dogs,  and  the 
troops  of  servants,  crowding  about,  shouting,  singing, 
crazy  with  delight  over  "  Marse  Harry  "  come  back  again. 
Here,  also,  were  children  grown  up  into  men  and  women, 
and  surprises  and  recognitions  and  perplexities  without 
end.  These  negroes  had  been  all  of  Allan's  boyhood 
world  ;  here  were  the  playmates  whom  he  had  drilled  and 
commanded,  and  all  the  tyrants  he  had  dreaded,  the 
latter  now  grown  suddenly  obsequious,  and  clamoring 
even  for  a  touch  of  his  hand.  Here  was  "  Aunt  Viney," 
who  had  nursed  him,  and  Pericles,  the  butler,  who  had 
scolded  him  out  of  the  pantry  ;  and  was  this  great,  strap- 
ping black  man  Jereboam  Anaximenes,  who  had  wept  salt 
tears  at  his  departure,  pleading  so  hard  to  be  taken  along, 
and  explaining  that  he  might  safely  be  trusted  not  to 
claim  his  freedom,  being  such  a  little  chap  ? 

That  evening  they  had  an  old-time  dinner  at  Valley 
Hall.  Rapture  and  excitement  streamed  from  the  very 
pores  of  the  negroes  who  cooked  it ;  and  after  the  turkey 

106 


THE   CRISIS  107 

had  been  carved,  there  stood  "  Aunt  Jinny  "  in  the  door- 
way, beaming  and  perspiring,  and  swathed  in  smiles. 
Did  it  not  seem  really  like  old  times  when  Captain  Mon- 
tague, for  perhaps  the  thousandth  time  in  his  life,  tasted 
one  of  her  "  beaten  biscuits "  critically,  and  observed, 
u  Jinny,  I  declare,  I  believe  you've  put  gunpowder  in 
these  to  blow  them  up  so  light,"  and  Aunt  Jinny,  holding 
her  fat  sides  with  her  fat  hands  to  keep  her  merriment 
from  exploding  her,  replied,  "Na  suh,  Massa  Montague, 
suh,  na  suh,  I  wuks  'em  till  dey  pops  !  " 

Allan  dreamed  that  night  that  he  was  a  boy  once  more, 
and  he  wished  that  he  might  never  waken  to  a  morrow  in 
which  the  world  was  not  such  a  place  of  plenty  and  delight. 

In  the  morning  there  were  a  thousand  things  crying 
out  to  Allan:  a  new  pony  to  test  and  old  friends  and  old 
scenes  to  revisit ;  Randolph  wanting  him  to  go  hunting, 
and  his  father  wanting  him  to  stay  and  see  the  neighbors 
who  would  surely  be  coming  in  all  the  morning  to  wel- 
come the  prodigal  sons  of  Mississippi.  Allan  himself 
would  have  preferred  to  stroll  in  the  garden  ;  but  Ethel 
was  already  preoccupied  there  —  breakfast  had  scarcely 
been  eaten  before  there  appeared  a  cavalier,  "  Billy " 
Hinds,  a  neighbor,  and  one  of  Allan's  old  playmates. 

"  It's  a  match,  I  reckon,"  said  Ralph,  slyly,  nodding  over 
his  shoulder  at  them,  as  he  dragged  his  cousin  away, 
willy-nilly,  to  inspect  a  new  colt. 

"  A  match !  "  ejaculated  Allan  ;  "  but  he's  no  older  than 
I  am." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Ralph;  "but  he's  crazy  about  Ethel, 
all  the  same  —  over  here  every  day,  and  never  takes  his 
eyes  off  her.  Did  you  notice  how  he  greeted  you  ?  " 

44  He  didn't  seem  very  cordial,  I  thought." 

"  He's  jealous,"  said  Ralph. 

"  Jealous  of  me  !  "  gasped  Allan. 

"Jealous  of  you — jealous  of  everybody — jealous  of 
Ethel's  lap-dog  !  If  you'd  gone  to  take  a  walk  with  her 
this  morning,  Billy 'd  have  gone  for  his  duelling  pistols." 

The  youngster  chuckled  over  his   cousin's   perplexity, 


108  MANASSAS 

as  the  two  made  their  way  through  the  negro  quarters 
and  to  the  stables.  Everywhere  on  their  way  the  servants 
rushed  out  to  greet  Allan  once  more,  made  happy  if  he 
gave  them  a  glance.  The  little  pickaninnies  gathered 
around  them  in  regiments,  staring  in  awe  at  their  new 
master. 

"  See  that  little  chap  ? "  volunteered  Ralph,  suddenly, 
pointing  to  a  bright  little  curly-haired  mulatto  boy  who 
grinned  ecstatically  and  turned  handsprings  to  attract 
their  attention.  "  Ain't  he  pretty  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Allan.     "  Whose  is  he  ?  " 

"  He's  'Dolph's,"  said  his  cousin. 

"  Where  did  he  buy  him  ?  "  Allan  asked. 

And  the  other  shot  a  quick  glance  at  him,  and  then 
turned  away,  collapsing  with  laughter. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Allan,  wonderingly. 

And  Ralph  stared  at  him  again.  "  Where  did  he  buy 
him  ?  "  he  gasped.  "  Oh,  lordie,  what  will  'Dolph  say  to 
that  ?  " 

And  then  a  sudden  gleam  shot  across  Allan's  mind,  and 
he  started  and  caught  the  other's  arm.  "  Ralph,"  he  cried, 
"you  don't  mean  that  he's  — that  he's  'Dolph's  child?" 

Ralph  was  gleeful  at  his  cousin's  face  of  horror.  "Of 
course  I  do,"  said  he ;  "  you  old  grannie,  what  did  you 
suppose  I  meant  ?  " 

Allan  could  find  no  word  for  a  moment.  "  Who  is  his 
mother  ?  "  he  asked,  at  last. 

"  Molly,  one  of  the  housemaids,"  said  Ralph.  "  You 
saw  her  —  that  black  girl  that  you  noticed."  Allan  recol- 
lected a  tall  handsome  woman  whose  graceful  carriage  he 
had  remarked. 

"  There's  another  one  somewheres,  a  little  girl,"  Ralph 
added,  "  and  another  coming.  What's  the  matter  ?  "  he 
continued  wonderingly,  seeing  his  cousin's  look.  "  They 
have  to  be  somebody's  children,  don't  they?  And  a  boy 
like  that's  worth  a  hundred  dollars  more  than  an  ordinary 
black  baby  the  day  he's  born."  He  tossed  a  penny  to 
the  little  fellow,  who  crowed  with  delight  as  he  danced 
about  with  it. 


THE   CRISIS  109 

"Who  knows  this?"  asked  his  cousin,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Most  everybody,  I  reckon,"  answered  Ralph,  easily ; 
"everybody  that  wants  to  know  it." 

"  Does  Ethel  know  it  ?  "  asked  Allan. 

Ralph  flushed.  "  No,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  guess  she  does. 
I  don't  suppose  she  asks  about  such  things." 

"  Does  your  father  know  it  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so.  I  don't  know.  But  good  heavens, 
Allan,  what's  the  matter  with  you?  Don't  you  suppose 
there  are  children  of  his  own  on  this  place  ?  Don't  you 
know  that  Tibbs  is  your  own  half-brother?" 

Allan  started  and  turned  white.     "  Oh  !  "  he  cried. 

"  But  it's  so,"  said  Ralph.  "  Everybody  knows  it. 
Ask  Tibbs  yourself,  and  see  if  he  don't  tell  you." 

Allan  went  on,  too  stung  to  speak ;  and  in  the  mean- 
while his  cousin,  all  unaware  of  the  effect  he  was  produc- 
ing, went  glibly  on  to  tell  him  stories  which  made  his 
flesh  curl.  Allan  had  gone  away  from  Valley  Hall  a 
child  and  come  back  a  man,  and  this  aspect  of  Slavery 
was  one  that  burst  upon  him  like  a  sudden  blast  of  fire. 
He  saw  it  everywhere,  the  instant  that  he  thought  of  it 
—  this  whole  plantation  was  simply  a  house  of  shame 
maintained  for  these  two  boys.  Every  slave  woman  on 
the  place  was  a  harlot,  bidding  for  their  favor ;  at  every 
corner  one  turned  one  saw  great  overgrown  girls  rolling 
and  kicking  half  naked  in  the  dust ;  and  scarcely  one  of 
them  upon  the  place  passed  her  fifteenth  year  without  be- 
coming a  mother.  To  all  the  allurements  of  sin  there  had 
been  added  this  stimulus  of  profit,  and  these  boys  had 
grown  up,  steeped  in  vice  to  their  very  eyes.  Ralph  was 
eighteen,  and  he  talked  of  these  things  with  the  matter- 
of-fact  simplicity  of  the  roue  of  fifty. 

The  glamour  was  gone  somehow  from  Valley  Hall.  It 
no  longer  seemed  beautiful  to  him ;  he  found  no  happiness 
in  it  anywhere  he  turned.  That  morning  he  rode  out  on 
the  new  pony  his  uncle  had  given  him,  and  the  first  sight 
he  stumbled  upon  was  a  gang  of  the  field-hands,  toiling 
in  the  burning  sun.  It  cut  him  like  a  knife  ;  he  rode  on 


110  MANASSAS 

for  hours,  scarcely  hearing  a  word  of  what  his  two  cousins 
said  to  him.  He  was,  no  longer  Allan  Montague,  heir  to 
half  this  domain  - —  he 'was  Frederick  Douglass,  field-hand  ; 
and  he  hated  the  plantation,  its  greatness,  its  luxury,  its 
pride. 

And  such  feelings,  which  haunted  him  the  first  day, 
came  to  possess  him  entirely  in  the  end.  When  he  had 
seen  all  the  place  and  met  all  the  neighbors,  he  had  done 
everything  there  was  to  do ;  and  he  grew  faint  at  the 
thought  that  he  was  to  stay  here  forever.  The  people  he 
met  were  gracious  and  refined,  but  what  they  talked  about 
somehow  did  not  interest  him,  and  tneir  feasting  seemed  to 
him  stupid.  The  young  men  were  "  fast "  —  their  thoughts 
were  of  horses,  and  w'omen,  and  wine ;  in  the  "  office,"  where 
came  the  elder  men,  the  talk  was  of  cotton  and  Kansas. 
To  Allan,  wKo  had  seen  beneath  the  surface  of  Slavery,  it 
was  fearful  to  be  face  to  face  with  men  to  whom  negroes 
were  really  mere  things — things  to  be  driven  and  exploited, 
to  be  sold,  to  be  killed,  if  need  be,  and  all  without  ever  a 
thought.  There  was  no  conscious  cruelty  or  wrong,  of 
course  ;  but  these  grave  gentlemen  discussed  this  and  that 
overseer,  and  how  many  "  bales  to  the  hand  "  he  "  made," 
and  one  would  never  have  guessed  that  the  "  hands  "  were 
not  machines.  Allan  thought  of  the  argument  of  which  he 
had  heard  so  much  from  the  Abolitionists  —  that  it  was  the 
custom  to  "  work  off  "  the  hands  on  the  sugar  plantations 
every  seven  years  ;  and  he  asked  the  question,  in  a  casual 
way,  and  started  a  long  discussion,  in  which  men  contended 
that  it  did  or  didjiot  pay,  adducing  cases  and  citing  figures, 
the  listener  meanwhile  noticing  in  silent  wonder  the  fact 
that  not  a  soul  thought  of  any  other  view  of  the  matter. 
The  point  was  that  there  were  only  three  or  four  months 
in  the  year  when  the  cane  could  be  ground ;  and  one  had 
either  to  work  his  hands  day  and  night  during  these  months, 
which  wore  them  out,  or  else  support  a  double  set  all  the 
year  round.  It  was  a  question  about  which  opinions  dif- 
fered ;  but  it  was  certain  by  the  statistics  that™the  slave 
population  of  Louisiana  decreased  two  and  a  half  per  cent 
a  year,  while  that  of  Virginia  increased  twenty. 


THE   CRISIS  111 

It  was  when  they  talked  politics,  however,  that  these 
gentlemen  seemed  to  Allan  maddest  of  all.  There  was 
no  longer  any  Union  sentiment  to  be  heard  at  Valley 
Hall.  The  South  stood  apart,  and  the  only  question  was 
whether  or  not  the  time  for  her  fight  had  come.  There 
was  only  one  person  there  who  was  not  in  arms  and  ready, 
and  that  was  Uncle  Ben,  who  took  a  good-natured  and 
mildly  cynical  view  of  public  affairs,  disapproving  of  the 
violence  of  the  politicians  because  it  interfered  with  his 
peace  of  mind  and  body. , 

About  the  Kansas  broil  the  planters  argued  for  hours, 
waiting  for  the  news.  At  that  time  the  marshal  of  the 
territory  had  called  for  help  in  executing  writs  in  Law- 
rence ;  the  Missourians  were  pouring  over  the  border, 
and  a  conflict  was  a  matter  of  days.  Allan  marvelled  to 
realize  the  depth  and  intensity  of  the  feeling  about  him. 
Once  or  twice  he  ventured  to  set  right  what  he  took  to  be 
misapprehensions,  but  the  way  people  received  his  words 
showed  him  quickly  that  they  had  no  care  about  fact  or 
reason  ;  that  in  their  dread  and  hatred  of  the  North  and 
of  everything  Northern,  they  were  as  if  waging  a  war,  so 
that  all  means  were  fair,  and  all  argument  treason.  Far 
beneath  the  incidents  and  accidents  of  the  moment  lay 
the  deep  distrust  of  a  passionately  conservative  people  for 
an  eager  and  growing  Democracy.  They  hated  it  in  all 
its  ways,  in  all  its  aspects  ;  they  hated  its  prosperity,  its 
freedom  ;  they  hated  its  manners,  its  religion,  its  litera- 
ture, its  thought.  In  all  the  furious  declamation  to  which 
Allan  listened,  he  kept  noticing  a  word,  —  one  which  was 
strange  to  his  tongue  and  to  his  ear,  but  which  was  re- 
peated day  and  night,  and  stood  for  all  things  horrible  at 
Valley  Hall  —  Jacobinism  !  In  Massachusetts  people  did 
not  talk  about  Jacobinism,  except  as  something  historical 
and  far  off ;  a  man  would  no  more  have  set  out  to  quarrel 
with  Jacobinism  than  with  Lollardry.  It  puzzled  him, 
until  he  thought  of  Burke,  and  realized  that  he  was  living 
in  an  English  civilization  of  fifty  years  before. 

The  habit  of  self-repression  which  Allan  had  formed 
was  tested  more1  severely  than  ever  ;  previously  he  had 


112  MANASSAS 

hidden  his  thoughts  from  his  father,  now  he  hid  them 
from  every  one.  He  could  do  no  good  by  interfering 
with  anything  or  remonstrating  with  anybody;  the  evils 
that  he  saw  were  deep  and  terrible,  but  they  sat  intrenched 
and  unassailable  —  a  man  could  no  more  make  an  impres- 
sion upon  them  than  he  could  upon  a  mountain  with  his 
naked  hands.  The  soul  of^  Douglass  haunted  him  all  the 
time  :  he  saw  it  in  every*  weary  face,  he  heard  it  in 
every  pleading  voice,  above  all,  in  the  strange,  wild 
singing  of  the  negroes.  He  saw  all  the  hatred  and  rebel- 
lion which  was  pent  in  the  plantation,  and  of  which  its 
owners  seemed  never  to  dream.  There  was  a  mulatto,  a 
cooper,  whom  Allan  had  heard  Randolph  cursing  for 
"  impudence  "  ;  the  tigerlike  fury  that  was  in  the  glare 
this  man  fixed  upon  his  master  as  he  turned  his  back  was 
something  Allan  never  forgot.  He  came  to  watch  the 
fellow  as  he  went  sullenly  about  his  tasks,  certain  that 
here  was  a  soul  in  torture. 

There  was  another  slave  who  haunted  Allan's  thoughts 
day  and  night,  and  would  not  let  him  rest.  Nearly  three 
weeks  had  passed  since  his  arrival  at  Valley  Hall  —  he  had 
spent  most  of  his  time  reading  —  when  one  morning  he 
accepted  an  invitation  from  Ralph  to  go  out  for  a  deer. 
Armed  with  rifles  they  rode  three  or  four  miles  from  home, 
and  tied  their  horses  and  struck  into  the  forest.  Venison 
was  plentiful  in  those  days,  and  there  were  no  game-laws  ;  in 
less  than  half  an  hour  they  had  struck  a  fresh  trail,  plainly 
marked  in  the  deep  black  soil,  and  set  out  cautiously  to 
follow  it.  The  forest  was  swampy,  dense  with  rank  vines 
and  the  gnarled  and  slimy  cypress  roots ;  here  and  there 
were  all  but  impassable  bogs,  and  then  again  higher  places 
covered  with  live  oak  and  brier  thickets.  Upon  these  lat- 
ter the  deer  were  to  be  found  hiding,  and  as  they  always 
lie  watching  their  back  trail,  at  the  first  of  them  the  two 
hunters  separated,  intending  cautiously  to  creep  around 
the  knoll,  and  steal  up  from  the  other  direction. 

Allan  had  crept  perhaps  fifty  yards,  eyes  and  ears  on  the 
alert  for  a  sight  of  the  game,  when  he  came  to  a  slight  open 


THE  CRISIS  113 

space,  through  which  he  could  see  to  the  knoll.  Crouching 
low  behind  a  log,  he  crept  along,  and  peered  cautiously 
ahead  through  each  opening  in  the  foliage.  He  saw  nothing 
that  looked  like  a  deer,  and  was  about  to  go  on,  when  sud- 
denly he  noticed  a  movement.  He  bent  forward  eagerly, 
clutching  his  rifle.  The  next  instant  he  started  back,  his 
heart  giving  a  leap  that  hurt  him.  Major  Roberts's  mu- 
latto slave,  "  Dutch  Joe,"  had  stepped  into  view  upon  that 
knoll  I 

He  was  at  least  a  hundred  yards  away,  and  his  back  was 
turned  to  Allan ;  but  the  latter  knew  him  in  an  instant, 
none  the  less.  That  giant  frame,  that  close-cropped  bullet 
head,  those  great  curving  shoulders  —  had  he  not  spent 
literally  hours  gazing  at  them  ?  A  trembling  like  an  ague 
had  seized  upon  him ;  he  crouched  as  if  turned  to  stone. 
What  could  it  mean?  Yet  there  was  no  need  to  ask  the 
question,  there  was  but  one  thing  it  could  mean  —  the  man 
had  run  away  again  !  And  now  what  was  Allan  to  do? 
It  must  be  quickly,  the  next  instant  might  be  too  late. 
The  negro  stood  turning  his  head  this  way  and  that,  as  if 
he  had  heard  something ;  why  did  he  not  keep  down  ?  If 
Ralph  saw  him  he  would  surely  hail  him,  and  shoot  him 
down  if  he  ran.  With  a  sudden  resolution  Allan  put  his 
fingers  to  his  lips,  and  blew  a  loud  whistle. 

The  man  dropped  as  if  a  bullet  had  struck  him ;  and 
the  other  stood  listening  in  suspense.  A  few  moments 
later  came  an  answering  whistle,  and  then  Allan  shouted 
"  Halloo !  " 

"What's  the  matter?"  came  Ralph's  voice  from  over 
the  knoll. 

"I  started  the  deer,"  Allan  answered.     "  He's  gone." 

"  Why  didn't  you  shoot  ?  " 

"  I  was  crawling  under  a  log,  and  couldn't.  Stay  where 
you  are,  and  I'll  join  you." 

He  set  out  on  a  run,  making  a  wide  circle  about  the 
place  where  he  had  seen  the  negro.  He  had  gone  but  a 
short  distance  before  he  came  upon  an  unexpected  sight  — 
there  lay  the  deer,  with  a  bullet  hole  in  his  side,  and  with 


114  MANASSAS 

a  piece  cut  out  of  him.  "  He  must  be  armed,"  Allan 
thought  swiftly,  as  he  dashed  on. 

"  What  in  the  world  did  you  yell  like  that  for  ?  "  his 
cousin  demanded,  when  he  met  him. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  the  other,  innocently.  "  The  deer 
was  gone." 

"  But  there  might  have  been  others,  you  can't  tell.  You 
never  ought  to  go  around  bawling  in  the  woods  —  we'd 
have  met  anyway,  and  now  you've  scared  out  everything 
for  half  a  mile." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Allan,  "  I  didn't  think  —  I  was  only 
mad  at  losing  my  shot.  Let's  strike  off,  and  try  again." 

They  started,  to  Allan's  deep  relief.  A  few  minutes 
later  they  scared  up  a  doe  and  fawn,  and  Ralph  wounded 
the  former,  which  gave  him  something  to  think  about. 
Allan  followed  him  mechanically  —  he  had  no  more  interest 
in  hunting.  His  mind  was  in  a  whirl.  How  had  the 
negro  come  to  that  place  ?  It  was  forty  miles  to  the 
Roberts  plantation  from  where  they  were,  and  Allan 
had  heard  nothing  of  his  escape.  Surely  the  news  ought 
to  have  spread,  the  newspapers  ought  to  have  been  full 
of  it  by  this  time.  For  nearly  a  month  the  thought  of 
"  Dutch  Joe "  had  stayed  with  Allan  like  the  memory 
of  a  crime ;  he  had  seen  him  in  his  dreams,  in"  chains, 
and  at  the  mercy  of  his  brutal  captor.  Now,  meeting 
him  thus  in  the  woods,  it  had  been  like  an  apparition. 
Allan  asked  himself  if  he  could  not  possibly  have  been 
mistaken. 

They  finished  their  hunt  without  Ralph's  finding  the 
doe,  and  they  were  forced  to  content  themselves  with  a 
pair  of  wild  turkeys.  As  they  rode  home  with  these 
slung  over  their  saddles,  another  surprise  met  Allan.  They 
rounded  a  sudden  turn  and  came  in  sight  of  a  pedestrian, 
a  familiar  figure.  He  seemed  to  start  when  he  saw  them, 
Allan  thought,  but  then  came  on  —  the  lanky  Westerner 
he  had  seen  upon  the  steamboat. 

He  went  by  them  without  meeting  their  eyes  ;  he  was 
still  chewing  vigorously. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  is  the  matter  with  that  chap  ?  " 


THE  CRISIS  115 

remarked  Ralph.  (It  was  a  strange  sight  to  see  a  white 
man  walking  in  Mississippi.) 

"  Don't  know,"  said  the  other  ;  "  who  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  saw  him  at  the  hotel  in  town,"  said  Ralph.  "  His 
name  is  Carter  ;  he's  some  sort  of  an  agent.  Queer- 
looking  duck." 

Allan  assented  and  rode  on.  He  did  not  mention  that 
he  had  seen  the  man  on  the  steamer  —  Allan  kept  his 
thoughts  to  himself  these  days.  Reaching  the  Hall  and 
finding  the  family  at  dinner,  the  two  hunters  cleaned  up 
and  reported  themselves.  "  Where's  Uncle  Ben  ?  "  asked 
Ralph. 

"Gone  to  town,"  answered  Mrs.  Montague;  "he  said 
he  might  be  late.  There  he  is  now." 

There  came  a  sound  of  galloping  hoofs,  and  then  Uncle 
Ben's  voice,  "  Hey,  you  there,  come  take  my  horse  !  " 
They  heard  him  leap  up  the  veranda  steps,  and  a  moment 
later  he  entered  the  room.  His  face  was  flushed,  and  his 
tone  eager. 

"  Heard  the  news  ?  "  he  cried. 

The  diners  turned.     "  What  is  it  ?  "  cried  Randolph. 

"  The  whole  country's  up,"  was  the  reply.  "  Nigger 
most  killed  Jim  Henderson  —  that  yellow  devil  he  brought 
back  from  Cincinnati  I  He's  run  away  again  I  " 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  three  boys  were  on  their  feet  at  a  bound  ;  even  the 
women  half  rose. 

44  How  ?     When  ?  "  cried  half  a  dozen  voices  at  once. 

44  Henderson  tried  to  whip  him  yesterday  afternoon," 
said  Uncle  Ben  ;  44  and  the  fellow  turned  on  him  like  a 
wildcat  —  knocked  his  pistol  out  of  his  hand  and  slashed 
his  face  all  to  pieces,  they  say." 

44  What  became  of  him  ?  "  ' 

44  Got  away,"  was  the  answer.  44  They  put  the  dogs  on 
him  and  ran  him  out  of  the  swamp  last  night,  but  they 
lost  the  trail." 

44  Henderson  told  me  he  was  going  to  keep  a  chain  on 
him,"  exclaimed  Captain  Montague.  (He  had,  of  course, 
told  the  story  of  his  meeting  the  man  on  the  steamer.) 

44  That's  the  worst  of  it,"  said  Uncle  Ben ;  44  the  nigger's 
got  a  iile,  and  filed  the  ring  through  in  two  places,  all  but 
a  hair.  It  was  on  his  ankles,  arid  his  trousers  hid  it,  and 
Henderson  didn't  see  it.  The  fellow  broke  it  right  off 
before  Henderson  knew  what  he  was  about.  They  say 
the  nigger  had  help." 

44  Help  !  "  cried  the  auditors. 

44  Yes,  he  had  a  pistol,  and  Henderson  vows  he  couldn't 
have  got  it  otherwise.  Then,  too,  they  tracked  him  to  the 
road  and  lost  him  there,  and  they  declare  he  got  on  a 
horse." 

The  family  stared  at  each  other  aghast.  44  Jerry  !  " 
called  Hamilton  Montague  to  one  of  the  servants.  "  Go 
tell  Taylor  Tibbs  to  saddle  the  horses.  We  must  see 
about  this." 

There  was  little  more  dinner  eaten  after  the  arrival  of 
those  wild  tidings.  Randolph  and  his  brother  were  eager 

116 


THE  CRISIS  117 

as  bloodhounds  in  the  leash,  and  the  rest  scarcely  less  so. 
Mr.  Handy  sat  down  at  the  table,  but  they  gave  him  little 
chance  to  eat  for  their  inquiries. 

"  One  of  Henderson's  boys  rode  over  to  town  this  morn- 
ing," he  told  them  ;  "  that's  how  I  heard  it.  They've  been 
hunting  along  the  roads  with  the  dogs  to  see  if  they  can 
find  where  the  negro  dismounted.  Major  Roberts  has  a 
standing  offer  of  three  hundred  dollars  for  any  of  his  nig- 
gers that  run  away,  and  Henderson  has  added  two  hun- 
dred more.  They  say  he's  crazy  ;  he's  out  this  morning, 
in  spite  of  his  cuts." 

"  How's  he  hurt  ?  "  asked  some  one. 

"Cut  in  the  arm,  and  his  face  all  chopped  up.  The 
devil  just  missed  his  eye,  one  time,  they  say.  Henderson 
had  been  trying  to  break  him  —  been  having  all  sorts  of 
times.  Boy  says  he  kept  him  tied  up  by  the  wrists  at 
night,  and  beat  him  for  an  hour  or  two  ;  didn't  make  a 
bit  of  difference,  either." 

"  It  won't  do  to  have  that  kind  of  a  man  loose,"  said 
Hamilton  Montague. 

"  They've  telegraphed  to  Natchez  for  more  dogs,"  said 
Mr.  Handy.  "  They're  going  to  beat  up  the  whole 
country." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  party  left  Valley  Hall,  —  Hamil- 
ton, his  brother-in-law,  the  three  boys,  the  two  overseers, 
and  a  couple  of  negroes  with  the  pack  of  hounds.  The 
captain  was  left  alone,  cursing  his  knee,  which  would  not 
let  him  ride.  Allan  went  along,  silent,  but  taking  in  all 
that  was  said. 

They  found  the  town  of  Woodville  almost  deserted, 
every  one  having  turned  out  for  the  hunt.  In  the  office 
of  the  hotel,  stared  at  by  the  curious  who  remained,  was  a 
blanket  which  had  been  used  by  the  negro,  and  which  was 
now  supposed  to  give  the  hounds  the  scent.  Since  the 
morning  had  come  a  telegraph  message  from  Baton  Rouge 
that  a  traveller,  riding  past  Woodville,  had  passed  a  gal- 
loping horseman  whom  he  believed  to  be  the  runaway.  It 
had  been  too  dark  for  him  to  see  his  face,  but  the  descrip- 
tion of  his  form  tallied.  The  result  of  this  was  to  send 


118  MANASSAS 

the  Montagues  back  toward  home  to  hunt  through  their 
own  woods. 

They  separated  into  two  parties  and  left  the  road. 
Allan,  after  waiting  to  make  sure  that  they  did  not  start 
in  the  direction  where  he  knew  the  fugitive  actually  to 
be,  left  them  and  rode  toward  the  Hall. 

Allan  was  in  a  fever  of  anxiety.  It  is  a  rule  of  all 
games  and  battles  that  the  advantages  of  one's  opponent 
loom  larger  than  one's  own  ;  the  woods  and  swamps  of 
Wilkinson  County  seemed  to  his  imagination  very  small 
in  comparison  with  the  number  of  dogs  and  hunters.  The 
thought  of  this  scourged  and  tortured  wretch  being 
hounded  about  them  was  one  that  made  the  blood  burn  in 
his  cheeks.  But  there  was  nothing  he  could  do  to  help 
him  ;  he  could  only  go  home  and  wait,  and  hide  his  impo- 
tent rage. 

The  spot  where  he  had  seen  the  fugitive  lay  beyond  the 
Hall,  as  one  came  from  the  town,  and  therefore  the  pur- 
suers were  a  considerable  distance  short  of  the  right  place. 
But  there  was  no  telling  how  much  space  they  might  get 
over  during  the  afternoon.  "  If  only  he  can  ride  on  again 
to-night,"  thought  Allan.  To  him,  turning  over  without 
cessation  his  meagre  data,  one  thing  had  become  certain  — 
that  the  person  who  had  helped  the  negro  must  be  the 
young  Westerner  who  had  caught  his  attention  on  the 
boat.  Allan  had  connected  the  fact  of  the  man's  going 
afoot  with  the  negro's  having  a  horse,  and  had  only 
dreaded  lest  Ralph  might  do  the  same.  The  two  had 
come  from  the  same  direction,  and  the  stranger  had  looked 
dusty  and  travel-stained.  "They  intend  to  meet  to- 
night," Allan  thought.  "  I  wish  that  I  knew  where." 

After  he  had  told  his  father  the  news,  there  was  no 
more  for  Allan  to  do  save  to  wander  round  and  bear  his 
sickness  of  soul.  Sitting  in  the  library  he  heard  a  horse 
galloping  up  the  road,  and  he  rushed  out  at  the  same 
moment  that  his  father  came  limping  through  another 
door,  followed  by  Ethel  and  her  mother.  Coming  toward 
the  house  at  a  furious  gallop  was  a  stranger,  a  lad  of 
about  fourteen.  Allan's  heart  leaped  into  his  mouth,  for 


THE   CRISIS  119 

he  saw  in  an  instant  that  tidings  of  importance  had  come. 
The  horse  was  white  with  foam,  and  the  boy's  face  showed 
his  excitement. 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Montague  ?  "  he  cried,  as  he  pulled  up  his 
mount  and  raised  his  cap. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  captain.     "  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Father  wants  to  know  will  you  lend  us  your  dogs, 
sir,"  said  he. 

"  Dogs  !  "  exclaimed  Captain  Montague.  "They  are 
out  already.  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  We've  got  the  nigger,  sir,  —  that  is,  at  least,  we've 
got  his  track,  but  we  can't  catch  him." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?     Can't  catch  him  !  " 

"  No,  sir,  we've  only  got  five  dogs,  and  they  are  all  for 
trailing  ;  they  won't  seize.  And  the  nigger's  got  guns, 
sir,  and  he  shot  one  ;  and  the  rest  are  shy,  and  don't  worry 
him  much.  He's  down  in  the  swamp  where  we  can't  ride, 
and  he  gets  along  as  fast  as  we  do.  We've  been  after 
him  two  hours,  and  we're  afraid  he  may  get  away  yet." 

Captain  Montague  and  his  son,  also,  were  fairly  hold- 
ing their  breath. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  the  captain. 

"I'm  Jim  Henderson's  oldest  boy,  sir.  Tom's  my 
name." 

"  And  where  is  all  this,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Down  in  the  bayou,  sir;  it  ain't  more'n  about  three 
miles  from  here.  We've  gone  about  ten,  sir,  up  and  down, 
since  we  got  the  trail." 

"  And  you're  sure  it's  the  man  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  sure,  sir.  We've  got  Tom  Murray  and  his 
dogs  from  Natchez,  and  there's  no  better  in  the  country. 
They  wouldn't  make  any  mistake.  We  found  a  place  too, 
where  he'd  shot  a  deer  and  cut  him  up." 

Allan  started  and  caught  hold  of  a  chair. 

"  Who's  with  you  ?  "  asked  the  captain. 

"  Father,  and  Murray,  and  a  whole  crowd  from  Wood- 
ville.  They  sent  me  to  ask  for  your  dogs;  they  said  you 
had  some  good  seizers  that  could  follow  with  the  rest  and 
tree  the  nigger." 


120  MANASSAS 

"  Every  one  of  our  dogs  is  out,"  cried  the  captain,  with 
an  angry  exclamation.  "  And  I've  no  idea  where  they  are, 
either.  You'll  have  to  go  on  to  Mr.  Hinds's  place,  and 
ask  him.  He's  got  two  boar  hounds  besides  his  other 
dogs,  and  they'll  stop  him  in  no  time.  Do  you  know  how 
to  get  to  Mr.  Hinds's  ?  " 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  boy;   "I  don't  think  I  do." 

"  Allan,  will  you  ride  and  show  him  ?  " 

There  was  a  moment's  awkward  pause.  The  question 
took  Allan  by  surprise.  But  before  he  could  say  anything 
the  truth  must  have  occurred  to  his  father.  He  added, 
"  Or  no,  I  will  send  a  man." 

He  turned  to  one  of  the  negroes,  of  whom  there  was 
a  crowd  about,  staring  with  wild  eyes.  "  Tip,"  he  called, 
"  go  and  get  a  horse  saddled,  quickly,  and  ride  with  this 
boy  to  Mr.  Hinds's." 

The  man  darted  off,  and  Captain  Montague  turned  to 
the  boy.  "  How  is  your  father  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Pretty  badly  hurt,"  the  boy  replied;  "but  he  don't 
mind  it,  he's  so  mad.  Got  his  face  so  tied  up  he  can 
hardly  see,  but  he's  through  the  swamp  ahead  of  them 
all." 

"How  close  are  they  to  the  nigger?"  asked  the 
captain. 

"  Not  more  than  half  a  mile,"  said  the  boy  ;  "  we  can 
hear  the  dogs  now  and  then.  We've  got  one  on  a  string 
to  guide  us,  you  know." 

"  How  did  the  man  come  to  get  such  a  start  yester- 
day ?  " 

"  He  had  a  pistol  hid  in  his  clothes,  sir.  I  was  out  in 
the  field  when  it  happened  —  it  was  just  before  dark.  He 
wasn't  working  to  suit,  and  father  began  to  lay  his  whip 
over  him.  He  bent  down  and  jerked  his  chain  right  off 
and  pulled  a  knife  and  went  at  father.  His  first  cut  ran 
clean  across  his  forehead,  and  when  father  tried  to  pull 
his  revolver,  the  fellow  cut  him  again  across  the  arm. 
He'd  have  killed  him,  I  think,  if  I  hadn't  laid  on  with  a 
club.  Then  he  turned  to  run,  and,  of  course,  just  as  soon 
as  I  saw  he  had  a  gun  I  had  to  give  up  and  let  him  go. 


THE  CRISIS  121 

We  got  the  dogs  and  put  them  on,  and  followed  him 
about  five  miles.  The  track  stopped  at  the  road,  and  we 
knew  he'd  got  on  a  horse.  Father  says  it's  some  of  the 
Abolitionists  from  up  in  Ohio,  as  sure  as  guns." 

In  a  few  moments  more'  the  other  horse  had  come,  and 
the  boy  lifted  his  hat  and  galloped  away.  Allan  turned 
and  went  back  into  the  house  without  a  word,  leaving  his 
father  and  the  two  ladies  standing  upon  the  piazza. 

The  young  fellow's  blood  was  coursing  through  the 
veins  in  his  forehead  like  molten  fire.  He  paced  the 
room,  half  wild,  clenching  his  hands,  muttering  to  him- 
self. "  Oh,  my  God,  I  can't  stand  this !  "  he  cried,  again 
and  again.  "  I  can't  stand  it  —  I  can't  stand  it !  I  won't 
let  them  kill  the  man  —  I  won't  —  I  won't !  I've  got  to 
do  something  —  I've  got  to  help  him !  It's  too  horrible 
—  it  can't  be  I  " 

Never  before  had  he  seen  the  thing  Slavery  as  he  saw 
it  at  that  moment :  as  a  demon  creature  with  a  grip  closing 
about  his  very  heart,  with  eyes  that  glared  into  his  and 
turned  him  sick  with  horror.  He  flung  up  his  hands  into 
the  air,  and  all  his  being  was  one  scream  of  agony  :  "  No, 
no !  No,  no  !  You  shall  not !  " 

And  then  he  turned  and  dashed  from  the  room.  He 
would  do  something,  he  would  do  what  he  could.  He 
would  find  the  man  —  if  he  could  do  no  better  he  would 
fight  his  tormentors  back  himself,  the  whole  mob  of  them. 
He  sped  out  of  the  house  and  to  the  stables.  There  was 
no  one  about,  but  in  the  excitement  the  door  had  been 
left  unlocked;  Allan  got  out  his  own  horse  and  put  a 
saddle  upon  him,  and  leaped  upon  his  back  and  away,  — 
down  the  lane,  over  fences  and  fields,  and  toward  Buffalo 
Bayou. 

The  sun  had  just  gone  down  behind  it ;  the  heavy 
clouds  hung  low,  black  and  sinister  above,  blood-red  and 
glaring  at  the  horizon.  Beneath,  down  a  long  slope,  lay 
the  great  hollow,  sombre  and  dark ;  somewhere  in  its  far- 
stretching  wilds  toiled  an  agonized  wretch,  sick  and  panting, 
stumbling  through  swamp  and  fen  and  thorny  brake,  bat- 
tling with  savage  dogs  and  fleeing  from  yet  more  savage 


122  MANASSAS 

men.  Ten  miles  they  had  hounded  him,  and  even  now 
he  might  be  fainting,  and  the  dogs  tearing  him,  or  the 
men  shooting  him  down  !  Allan's  soul  cried  out  to  God 
with  the  horror  of  this  thing  —  that  it  should  be  upon 
earth,  and  no  deliverance  from  it.  A  shuddering  seized 
him  —  beads  of  perspiration  stood  out  upon  his  forehead ; 
the  sullen  landscape  before  him  seemed  to  him  the  very 
pit  of  hell,  with  its  flaming  top. 

He  rode  on  to  the  very  edge  of  the  swamp  and  there 
paused,  listening.  Within  the  great  forest  it  was  still  as 
death.  He  struck  his  horse  and  dashed  ahead,  along  the 
edge  of  the  cotton-fields.  A  fence  and  ditch  loomed 
large  in  the  shadows  ;  he  took  them  at  a  bound  and 
went  on.  Then  again  he  drew  rein  and  listened. 

Hark  !     What  was  that  ? 

Allan's  heart  was  pounding  so  that  he  could  not  be  sure 
what  he  heard ;  he  waited,  straining  his  ears,  sick  with 
suspense.  Surely  that  was  not  his  imagination  ;  no,  it 
was  the  far-off  baying  of  the  hounds.  Echoing  over  the 
wild  waste  of  swamp  land,  messenger  of  terror,  the  sound 
struck  a  chill  to  his  heart. 

He  got  down  from  his  horse ;  he  could  not  sit  still. 
He  moved  back  and  forth,  clenching  his  hands.  There 
it  was  again  ;  there  was  no  doubt  about  it — it  was  the  dogs  ! 
They  were  at  his  heels  still,  they  would  stay  there  forever. 
Allan  cried  aloud  with  the  pain  of  it  —  an  incoherent, 
hysterical  cry  ;  he  pressed  his  hands  to  his  forehead,  toil- 
ing5 like  one  in  a  nightmare.  And  then  again  he  stood 
gripping  his  hands  together,  and  whispering  breathlessly : 
"  Now  don't  be  a  fool !  Don't  be  a  fool !  You  are  going 
to  help  that  man,  somehow  ;  you  are  going  to  save  him  ! 
How?  How?" 

If  he  could  only  get  to  him,  that  was  the  first  thing. 
He  would  give  him  his  horse,  and  stay  behind  and  face 
them.  They  might  do  what  they  pleased  with  him,  he 
was  not  afraid. 

He  mounted  again  and  turned  his  horse  toward  the 
thicket ;  but  the  animal  stood  still,  his  fore  feet  on  the 
edge  of  the  bog.  No  urging  could  move  him  ;  Allan 


THE  GKISIS  123 

saw  then  that  the  attempt  would  be  madness  —  he  could 
not  ride  through  the  swamp  at  night. 

He  thought  of  walking  ;  but  he  could  not  expect  to 
catch  the  fugitive,  he  could  travel  no  faster  than  the 
others.  "  If  he  will  only  come  out  !  "  Allan  exclaimed. 
"  If  they  get  more  dogs,  he  will  have  to." 

But  what  if  they  "treed"  him,  and  killed  him  there 
in  the  darkness  ?  Again  despair  seized  Allan. 

The  sound  seemed  to  be  moving  down  the  bayou  ;  he 
followed.  It  seemed  first  to  draw  near,  then  to  recede  ; 
now  there  would  be  a  yelp,  now  a  whole  baying  chorus. 
At  times  there  would  come  a  place  in  the  forest  into  which 
he  could  force  his  horse  a  few  rods,  but  each  time  he  had 
to  give  up  the  attempt ;  and  so  for  perhaps  two  night- 
mare hours  he  paced  back  and  forth  along  the  margin  of 
the  fields,  helpless  as  if  bound  with  chains.  The  hunt 
had  moved  back  to  the  place  of  his  first  approach,  opposite 
;the  Hall ;  it  seemed  to  come  nearer,  but  never  near  enough. 
Always  it  was  the  same  monotonous,  maddening  yelp- 
ing ;  his  whole  being  leaped  with  relief  when  at  last  there 
came  a  change,  a  new  sound  from  afar,  —  a  deep-toned 
echoing,  bell-like  call  from  the  other  side  of  the  bayou. 
The  trailers  heard  it  and  cried  in  chorus,  and  Allan 
gasped,  "  It  is  the  boar  hounds  !  " 

The  hunt  seemed  at  once  to  move  more  swiftly.  The 
dogs  cried  louder,  and  moved  faster,  and  came  nearer. 
Once  a  pistol  shot  rang  out  —  they  must  have  come  too 
close !  They  only  barked  more  furiously  than  ever, 
and  again  came  the  deep-voiced  reply.  Behind  it  one 
could  now  hear  the  baying  of  a  pack,  and  they  seemed 
to  have  left  the  trail,  and  to  be  following  the  sound, 
straight  across  the  swamp  ;  the  fugitive  was  still  doubling 
and  turning,  and  Allan  cried  out  in  agony  :  "  Why 
doesn't  he  come  out  !  Why  doesn't  he  come  out !  " 

He  came  nearer,  and  the  listener's  heart  beat  faster  and 
faster.  Once  or  twice  he  thought  he  heard  men's  voices, 
once  he  was  sure  he  heard  a  breaking  sound  in  the  brush. 
There  was  another  pistol  shot  —  it  startled  him  with  its 
nearness,  and  he  heard  one  of  the  dogs  give  a  howl.  He 


124  MANASSAS 

was  debating  with  himself  in  his  suspense  whether  he 
should  not  call  out  to  the  negro. 

"  But  he  must  come  out,"  he  reasoned,  hearing  the  pack 
closer  yet.  "He  must  come  out  where  he  can  see  —  he 
won't  face  them  in  that  black  hole  !  " 

And  so  it  seemed.  Yelp,  yelp  !  went  the  trailers,  and 
Allan  stopped  his  horse  in  the  shadow  of  a  cotton  tree, 
and  sat  motionless,  save  for  his  laboring  heart.  There 
was  now  a  snapping  of  underbrush  far  in  the  thicket, 
steady,  continuous.  To  the  listener  it  was  the  climax  of 
his  fearful  suspense  ;  the  pain  of  it  was  almost  too  much 
for  him  —  there  was  a  tingling  down  to  the  finger-tips, 
burning  like  fire.  Nearer  and  nearer  —  it  seemed  like 
the  approach  of  some  monstrous  wild  beast,  crashing  and 
plunging  through  ;  there  came  also  a  rasping,  snorting 
sound,  which  Allan  heard  in  horror.  The  nagging  of  the 
dogs  half  drowned  it,  but  it  came  closer,  and  he  knew 
what  it  was,  and  held  tightly  his  quivering  horse.  Three 
or  four  rods  ahead  of  him  was  a  jungle  of  dead  cane,  grow- 
ing out  into  the  field,  a  blind  tangle,  almost  impenetrable  ; 
a  minute  more  had  passed  —  it  began  suddenly  to  shake, 
there  was  a  snapping  and  trampling  —  and  an  instant 
later  a  dark  form  bounded  out  into  the  open. 

It  was  the  negro.  He  stood,  fighting  for  air,  his  huge 
frame  heaving  like  a  bellows.  The  rasping  sound,  his 
breathing,  had  become  a  roar,  hoarse  and  savage,  like  the 
snarl  of  a  wild  beast,  but  swifter  and  louder.  Convulsive 
and  choking  sobs  shook  him  ;  he  stared  about  him,  dazed 
and  reeling.  He  did  not  see  Allan,  but  Allan  could  see 
him  plainly,  groping  like  a  blind  man,  seeming  not  yet  to 
know  that  he  was  out  of  the  thicket. 

A  log  lay  in  front  of  him,  and  as  he  started  again  he 
stumbled,  clutching  before  him  with  outstretched  arms. 
He  crawled  over  it,  and  went  on,  half  dragging  himself 
upon  his  knees. 

Allan's  eyes  had  been  riveted  upon  him  ;  he  had  for- 
gotten the  sounds  in  the  rear,  and  started  when  three 
forms  stole  out  into  the  open.  They  were  the  dogs,  small 


THE,  CRISIS  125 

foxhounds.  They  came  upon  a  trot,  following  him  step 
by  step,  stopping  when  he  stopped,  never  taking  their 
eyes  off  him.  He  stumbled  again,  and  one  bounded  for- 
ward with  a  growl.  The  negro  straightened  up,  whirling 
about.  He  stood  for  a  moment,  his  hands  clutching  his 
sidesi,  then  he  bent  down  to  the  ground,  groping  about 
him,  snarling  like  a  wild  beast.  The  dogs  turned  and 
ran,  and  he  seized  a  bit  of  a  stick  and  flung  it  after  them 
in  impotent  fury.  They  fled  to  a  distance,  then  stopped 
—  one  of  them  sat  upon  his  haunches  and  howled  dismally. 
The  negro  turned  and  staggered  on  across  the  clearing 
again,  and  again  the  dogs  closed  in  on  his  trail,  yelping. 

Suddenly  Allan  heard  again  the  answering  chorus,  the 
long-drawn  baying,  now  close  at  hand  in  the  swamp. 

The  negro  straightened  up  at  the  sound  and  broke  into 
a  run.  At  the  same  instant  Allan  struck  his  heels  upon 
his  horse's  sides  and  rode  out  of  the  shadow.  "  Wait !  " 
he  shouted. 

The  fugitive  turned  and  stared.  Allan,  confused  and 
excited,  saw  him  tugging  at  something  in  his  belt,  then 
with  a  sudden  flash  of  comprehension  he  reined  in  his 
horse.  "  I  mean  to  help  you !  "  he  cried  ;  but  the  next 
instant  the  man  raised  his  arm  and  there  came  a  sharp 
report  and  a  blaze  of  light,  and  a  bullet  whizzed  by  Allan's 
head,  and  went  singing  away  into  the  distance. 

Allan  was  dazed,  and  the  plunging  of  his  frightened 
horse  almost  unseated  him.  The  negro  stood  staring  for 
a  moment  more  —  then  wheeled  and  continued  his  flight. 
The  full  sickening  realization  of  his  own  utter  helpless- 
ness and  of  the  fugitive's  came  to  the  other  then  for  the 
first  time. 

Yet  even  so  he  could  not  give  up  hope  ;  he  followed  at 
a  distance,  calling  aloud:  "I  want  to  help  you!  Don't 
you  hear  me  ?  I  will  give  you  my  horse  !  I  am  your 
friend  I  "  But  whether  the  man  was  too  far  gone  to 
understand  him,  or  whether  he  thought  it  a  ruse,  he  only 
ran  the  faster,  and  Allan's  voice  was  drowned  by  the 
yelling  of  the  pack  down  in  the  swamp. 

The  young  man   sank  forward  upon  his   horse,  over- 

9 


126  MANASSAS 

whelmed  with  despair ;  unnoticed  by  him  the  animal 
halted,  and  the  chase  disappeared  across  the  fields. 

It  was  only  for  a  few  minutes,  however.  Again  and 
again  came  the  fearful  outcry  in  the  rear  —  nearer  and 
nearer  —  it  seemed  on  the  very  edge  of  the  forest.  Allan 
stared  about  him.  Far  ahead,  over  the  level  ground,  he 
could  see  the  lights  of  Valley  Hall  twinkling  in  the  midst 
of  dark  masses  of  foliage.  The  fugitive  had  gone  that 
way  —  perhaps  hoping  to  be  hidden  by  the  negroes,  or 
perhaps  to  throw  the  dogs  off  the  scent.  Allan  urged 
his  horse  to  a  gallop  once  more,  thinking  in  his  despera- 
tion again  to  hail  the  negro;  but  the  man  was  out  of 
sight,  and  he  could  not  find  him.  The  yelping  of  the 
dogs  at  the  negro's  heels  was  now  made  inaudible  by  the 
fierce  baying  close  in  Allan's  rear. 

He  watched  behind  him  as  he  rode  ;  the  sounds  seemed 
suddenly  to  leap  out  of  the  brake,  several  seconds  before 
he  could  see  the  dogs.  There  they  were,  however, — a  mass 
of  shadowy  forms  swept  across  the  fields,  in  the  lead  two 
huge  creatures,  seeming  the  size  of  full-grown  calves. 
They  sped  on,  silent  and  ghostly,  leaving  the  barking 
now  to  the  pack  which  raced  at  their  heels.  Sickening 
were  the  stories  Allan  had  heard  of  the  ferocity  of  those 
boar  hounds. 

He  spurred  the  horse  and  dashed  away  over  the  fields, 
neck  and  neck  with  them.  He  had  now  a  revolver  in  his 
hand. 

He  watched  for  the  fugitive,  but  field  after  field  sped 
by  and  they  did  not  come  in  sight  of  him.  The  farther 
of  the  outhouses  were  in  sight,  they  swept  past  them,  and 
down  the  path.  There  came  a  gate  ;  the  dogs  shot  under 
it,  and  the  horse  bounded  over,  then  suddenly  Allan 
caught  sight  of  the  negro.  They  were  in  the  very  centre 
of  the  great  yard  —  the  negro  cabins  at  one  side,  the  huge 
barns  and  stables  looming  in  front,  and  at  the  other  side, 
in  the  distance,  the  rear  of  the  "  great  house  "  gleaming 
with  lights.  The  man  was  staggering  onward,  making 
for  the  stables.  Allan  saw  in  his  swift  glance  that  some 
one  else  was  at  his  side,  apparently  assisting  him. 


THE  CRISIS  127 

The  two  hounds  had  caught  sight  of  him,  and  lifted 
their  voices  in  loud,  eager  cry,  bounding  away  at 
redoubled  speed.  Allan  called  to  his  horse,  beating 
upon  its  side  frantically  with  the  revolver,  but  falling 
behind  nevertheless.  The  negro  was  running  as  never 
before,  but  it  seemed  to  Allan  as  if  he  stood  still.  Just 
ahead  loomed  the  great  building ;  the  fugitive  dashed 
past  the  corner,  sped  on  toward  the  door.  The  space 
closed  up,  Allan  gasped  aloud,  his  voice  rising  into  a 
scream.  There  was  a  moment  of  horror;  the  hounds 
were  at  the  man's  heels  —  their  forms  seemed  one,  and 
Allan  stood  up  in  his  stirrups.  An  instant  later  the 
door  slammed  with  a  crushing  sound,  the  body  of  the 
foremost  of  the  two  boar  hounds  caught  halfway  in  it. 

There  was  a  second  of  savage  struggle,  the  dog  snarling 
and  screaming  in  rage  and  pain,  the  men  on  the  inside 
beating  and  slashing  it  with  some  weapon.  The  dog's 
companion  and  the  rest  of  the  pack  flung  themselves  at 
the  open  place,  raging  madly  —  but  too  late.  The  leader 
had  struggled  back,  and  in  a  flash  the  barrier  had  closed  I 


CHAPTER  VI 

OUTSIDE  the  pack  was  yelling  and  snarling,  bounding 
against  the  stable  door  or  chewing  at  the  bottom  of  it  in 
impotent  rage.  The  outcry  had  awakened  the  place, — 
horses  were  neighing,  and  cattle  lowing,  and  the  negroes 
rushing  out  of  their  cabins.  It  seemed  but  a  few  seconds 
before  there  was  a  ring  of  them  about  the  scene,  staring 
in  wild-eyed  fright. 

Allan  sat  for  perhaps  a  minute,  motionless  ;  the  reac- 
tion from  the  intense  strain  to  which  he  had  been  put  left 
him  helpless.  But  in  truth  his  chance  for  respite  was 
brief  —  the  immediate  horror  had  been  deferred,  but  the 
negro  was  still  a  prisoner,  and  his  fate  could  be  no  differ- 
ent in  the  end.  Some  of  his  pursuers  might  arrive  any 
instant,  and  then  there  would  be  not  the  slightest  hope  for 
him.  They  would  break  in  the  door,  and  there  was  no 
place  he  could  hide  where  the  dogs  would  not  find  him. 
Under  the  law  the  man's  life  was  forfeit ;  he  had  resisted 
his  master,  and  was  resisting  recapture.  Allan  recollected 
a  question  he  had  asked  one  day  of  one  of  their  own  over- 
seers. "If  he's  quiet,"  the  man  had  said,  "we  call  the 
dogs  off  ;  but  if  he  fights,  we  generally  let  them  tear 
him." 

Allan  looked  up,  and  gazed  around  him  once  more. 
The  scene  was  dark,  but  he  saw  people  running  from  the 
house  with  lanterns,  and  waited  in  suspense,  dreading  lest 
his  father  should  appear,  or  any  of  the  rest,  returned 
from  their  hunting.  His  thoughts  were  bent  upon  the 
hope  of  getting  the  man  out  of  the  barn  ;  if  he  could  do 
it,  he  might  yet  save  him  —  for  Allan  would  not  have  been 
in  the  least  deterred  from  giving  him  his  horse  by  the 
fear  of  its  becoming  known. 

Those  who  were  running  up  were  negroes.  He  rode 

128 


THE   CRISIS  129 

toward  them,  thinking  swiftly.  Whom  should  he  trust  ? 
He  could  spare  only  an  instant  to  decide  ;  he  saw  one  of 
the  stable  hands,  a  big,  broad-faced,  good-natured  "black 
boy,"  who  had  been  wont  to  bring  him  his  pony  in  the 
mornings.  "  Jerry,"  he  called,  "  come  here  !  " 

The  negro  approached  and  Allan  sprang  from  his 
horse.  "  Listen  to  me,  Jerry,"  he  began  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Those  dogs  have  got  that  runaway,  4  Dutch  Joe,' 
there  in  the  barn.  They've  been  chasing  him  about  the 
woods  for  four  hours,  and  he's  nearly  dead.  The  men  will 
be  here  soon,  and  they  intend  to  kill  him.  I  want  you  to 
come  with  me  ;  I  mean  to  help  him." 

The  negro's  eyes  were  shining  like  saucers.  "Help 
him  !  "  he  gasped.  "  Marse  Allan  ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Allan,  "  I  have  been  trying  to  already  ;  I 
will  not  stand  by  and  see  him  torn  to  pieces.  What's 
the  matter,  are  you  afraid  ?  " 

"  'Fraid,  Marse  Allan  —  no  !  "  exclaimed  the  man, 
breathless  with  amazement.  "But  does  yo'  mean  it, 
Marse  Allan  ?  " 

"  I  mean  it,"  was  the  reply. 

"  What  will  Marse  Harry  say  ?  "  cried  the  negro. 

"  I  don't  care  what  any  one  says  ;  we  must  do  it  be- 
fore the  rest  come.  Where  is  father  —  is  he  up  at  the 
house  ?  " 

"No,  Marse  Allan,"  said  Jerry  ;  "he's  gone — he  done 
got  de  carriage  to  ride  out  an'  look  fo'  de  rest,  Marse 
Allan." 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  the  other.  "  That  gives  us  a  few 
moments.  I  want  you  to  listen  now,  quickly.  I  will 
take  all  the  blame  ;  no  one  will  know  you  had  anything  to 
do  with  it." 

"  I'll  help  yo',  Marse  Allan,"  exclaimed  the  man.  "  But 
what  kin  we  do  ?  " 

"  We  must  get  him  out  and  put  him  on  a  horse  —  that 
is  the  only  chance.  Some  one  must  go  in  there  and  make 
him  understand.  I  would  go,  but  it  would  do  no  good  ; 
he  has  shot  at  me  once  already.  He  would  listen  to  a 
colored  man." 


130  MANASSAS 

"  Marse  Allan !  "  gasped  the  negro.  (His  jaw  hung  down 
with  terror.) 

"  You  must  manage  it,"  Allan  went  on,  swiftly.  "  There's 
no  danger  ;  there's  one  of  our  people  in  there  with  him 
now.  It  was  dark,  but  I  saw  him  go  in.  I  thought  it 
looked  like  Taylor  Tibbs." 

"  I  seen  him,  Marse  Allan,"  said  Jerry.  "  It  was  Tibbs, 
but  I  t'ink  he  got  out  again,  sir." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  Allan  cried. 

"  I  seen  a  man  climb  out  de  loft  window  in  de  back  an' 
run,  Marse  Allan." 

"  But  the  dogs  have  been  round  there.  Some  of  them 
are  back  there  now." 

"  I  know  it,  Marse  Allan,  but  dey  wouldn't  pay  no  'ten- 
tion  to  nobody  but  de  man  dey  was  track  in'.  Dey  knows 
he's  still  da  —  yo'  kain't  fool  dem  houn's,  Marse  Allan  — 
dey  is  de  devil  in  dem  houn's,  Marse  Allan  !  " 

"  Where's  Tibbs  gone  ?  "  Allan  demanded. 

"  I  dunno,  sir,  but  I  see  him  run.  Him  an'  me  heered 
de  dogs  comin',  Marse  Allan  ;  we  'lowed  we'd  try  to  he'p 
de  man  an'  hide  him.  —  You  won't  tell  nobody,  Marse 
Allan  ?  " 

Jerry  was  still  half  dazed  with  fright  ;  the  sudden 
revelation  that  his  young  master  was  a  rebel  had  been 
almost  too  much  for  him.  "  I  mean  what  I  say,"  Allan 
answered  him. 

It  took  half  a  minute  more  of  urging  before  the  man 
could  be  induced  to  start ;  finally,  however,  he  disap- 
peared in  the  rear  of  the  stable,  and  Allan  waited,  gazing 
about  him  meantime  in  a  fever  of  anxiety. 

He  knew,  of  course,  that  at  any  instant  this  last  hope 
might  be  shattered.  Was  not  the  whole  country  riding 
about  this  neighborhood  searching  ?  And  the  uproar  the 
dogs  were  making  could  be  heard  upon  the  still  night  air 
for  miles.  The  arrival  of  any  white  men  would,  of  course, 
have  ended  everything,  for  they  would  have  shot  the  negro 
down  at  sight.  Allan  rode  amongst  the  pack,  shouting  at 
them,  but  to  no  purpose  ;  he  could  drive  them  back  from 
the  door  for  the  moment,  but  he  could  not  silence  them. 


THE   CEISIS  131 

Seconds  seemed  minutes,  and  minutes  ages  ;  he  was 
about  to  ride  round  to  see  what  was  the  matter  with 
Jerry,  when  suddenly,  above  the  confusion  outside  and 
the  stamping  of  the  horses  within,  he  made  out  the  man's 
voice  :  "  Joe  !  Joe  !  Whar  is  yo'  ?  " 

The  chorus  of  the  pack  drowned  out  the  answer,  if 
answer  there  was.  Allan  could  only  wait,  twisting  his 
hands  together  in  his  nervousness.  There  were  still  peo- 
ple running  up  from  every  direction  ;  he  could  hear  dis- 
tant cries  and  shouts,  and  had  no  means  of  being  sure 
whether  they  came  from  the  plantation  hands  or  from 
approaching  white  men.  Allan  dreaded  lest  even  his  aunt 
or  cousin  should  be  brought  out  by  the  alarm. 

"  What  can  be  the  matter  with  Jerry  ? "  he  panted. 
"  What  can  he  be  saying  to  the  man  ?  "  He  handed  his 
horse  to  one  of  the  crowd  of  servants,  and  started  around 
the  corner.  At  the  same  moment  the  negro  rushed  into 
sight. 

"  Well  ?  "  Allan  gasped. 

"  Kain't  find  him,  Marse  Allan,"  whispered  the  breath- 
less man. 

«  Can't  find  him  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  went  all  roun'." 

«  Isn't  he  in  there  ?  " 

"  He's  in  da,  sho',  Marse  Allan  ;  but  he's  hidin'  an'  he's 
scared.  I  called  him  all  roun',  but  he  won't  answer  —  he 
t'ink  it's  a  trick." 

"  You  were  afraid  !  "  Allan  exclaimed.  "  You  did  not 
hunt !  " 

"  I  did  my  bes',  Marse  Allan,"  protested  Jerry.  "  'Fore 
God  I  did,  an'  he  heard  me,  too  !  But  he  doan'  know 
my  voice,  Marse  Allan." 

"Does  he  know  Tibbs's  ? "  Allan  asked.  "Will  he 
answer  Tibbs  ?  " 

"  I  guess  he  might,"  said  Jerry  ;  "  we  might  try.  I 
t'ink  Tibbs  —  " 

But  there  the  man  stopped  short,  turning  in  alarm. 
From  out  of  the  darkness  beyond  there  had  come  sud- 
denly a  wild  yell,  followed  by  a  chorus  of  cries.  It  was 


132  MANASSAS 

the  direction  from  which  the  chase  had  approached,  and  a 
pain  like  a  knife  shot  through  Allan.  He  clutched  his 
hand  to  his  side.  It  was  the  hunters. 

The  two  stood  helpless.  There  could  be  no  mistake 
about  it,  the  sounds  were  drawing  nearer;  he  heard  a 
voice  shouting,  "  Here  they  are,  here  they  are  !  "  Noth- 
ing could  be  seen,  for  the  throng  which  encircled  Allan. 
He  got  no  glimpse  of  the  party,  until  suddenly  a  figure 
sprang  through  an  opening  left  by  the  negroes  as  they 
recoiled,  and  in  the  clear  light  of  the  lantern  stood  Jim 
Henderson. 

Never  in  his  life  had  Allan  seen  a  sight  more  horrible 
than  that  man.  His  clothing  was  torn  into  rags,  and 
black  and  slimy  with  the  mire  of  the  swamp.  His  face 
and  head  had  once  been  bound  in  cloths ;  there  were  still 
some  about  his  neck  and  forehead,  but  those  about  his  face 
had  been  torn  away,  disclosing  three  frightful  newly  sewed 
gashes.  One  of  them  had  broken  open,  and  from  it  the 
blood  had  oozed  out  until  the  man's  face  and  clothing 
were  dyed  with  it ;  it  ringed  his  glaring  eyes,  it  ran  from 
the  corners  of  his  mouth,  his  hair  was  clotted  and  filthy 
with  it.  He  staggered  against  the  side  of  the  stable  and 
leaned  there,  flinging  back  his  head  and  gasping  hoarsely 
for  breath ;  his  hands  were  gripped  together,  his  eyes 
gleamed  like  a  wild  beast's  —  he  looked  like  a  very  fiend 
out  of  hell.  Three  or  four  others  staggered  into  sight 
behind  him,  and  he  pointed  his  finger  at  the  door,  pant- 
ing :  "  We've  got  him !  By  God,  we've  got  him  !  " 

The  men  were  so  played  out  that  most  of  them  lay 
down  upon  the  ground  like  dogs ;  Henderson  himself  had 
to  cling  to  the  frame  of  the  stable  door  to  keep  himself 
erect,  and  for  at  least  a  minute  there  was  no  move.  The 
negroes  stood  gazing  on  in  wild  terror,  and  Allan  was 
watching,  filled  with  a  sudden  desperate  resolve. 

One  by  one,  more  of  the  pursuers  staggered  in  upon  the 

.  trail ;  there  were  eight  or  nine  on  the  spot,  when  finally 

Henderson  started  forward,  his  mutilated  face  distorted 

with  his  fury,  and  yelled :  "  Come    on,  boys,    come   on  I 

Let's  have  him  out  I  " 


THE   CRISIS  133 

He  leaped  toward  the  door.  "  Get  back  !  "  he  shouted 
to  the  dogs,  kicking  them  away  with  furious  oaths.  Sev- 
eral of  the  others  had  also  sprung  forward,  and  they  flung 
themselves  against  the  door. 

"  He's  locked  it !  "  exclaimed  Henderson.  "  Get  an 
axe  there,  somebody  ;  hand  me  that  crowbar  there,  you 
nigger !  " 

He  seized  the  bar  and  rushed  toward  the  door  again. 
An  instant  more  quickly,  however,  a  form  had  sprung  in 
front  of  him. 

"  Stop !  "  cried  a  voice.  "  Stop !  "  And  Henderson 
started  back,  amazed. 

"  What's  this?  "  he  cried.     "  What's  the  matter?  " 

"  You  can't  break  in  this  door,"  said  Allan.  "  That's 
all." 

The  other's  face  was  convulsed  with  fury.  With  a 
sudden  gesture  he  whipped  a  pistol  from  his  belt,  and 
then  for  a  moment  or  so  the  two  stared  into  each  other's 
eyes.  "  I  don't  think  you  had  best  shoot  me,  Henderson," 
said  Allan,  quietly. 

The  man  seemed  to  realize  for  the  first  time  with  whom 
he  was  dealing.  "  Why  —  what's  the  matter  ?  "  he  gasped. 
"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say,"  said  Allan,  "  I  won't  have  you 
breaking  into  our  stable." 

"  But  I  want  to  get  my  nigger !  "  shouted  the  man. 

"  Your  nigger  isn't  in  there,"  Allan  answered. 

"  Isn't  in  there  !  "  screamed  Henderson. 

"  No,"  was  the  reply,  "  he  is  not.  I  saw  those  dogs 
coming  up  from  the  woods  ;  they  chased  one  of  our  own 
stablemen  in  there,  and  I've  been  trying  to  get  them  away 
ever  since." 

"What's  that?  What's  that?"  cried  a  shrill,  excited 
voice.  A  little  rat-faced  Irishman  pushed  his  way  in 
front  of  Allan.  A  limb  of  a  tree  had  cut  his  forehead 
in  the  darkness,  and  his  face,  too,  was  smeared  with 
blood. 

"  My  name's  Murray,"  he  cried.  "  Them's  my  dogs. 
You  trying  to  tell  me  my  dogs  is  got  the  wrong  nigger  ? 


134  MANASSAS 

I've  run  them  dogs  for  six  year,  an'  there's  no  fool  can  tell 
me  about  them  dogs." 

"  I  think  you  don't  know  whom  you  are  talking  to," 
replied  Allan. 

The  men  stood  crowding  about  him,  staring  at  him, 
amazed. 

"  You  might  just  as  well  understand  me,"  he  continued 
resolutely.  "  I  am  in  charge  of  this  place  while  my  father 
and  uncle  are  away,  and  I  tell  you  that  I  will  not  have 
that  stable  broken  into.  There  are  valuable  horses  in  that 
stable,  and  the  first  thing  you  know  those  dogs  would 
have  them  stampeded.  I  tell  you  I  know  who  it  is  in  the 
barn  and  if  you  will  call  off  the  dogs,  I  will  show 
you." 

"I  can't  call  off  them  boar  hounds,"  cried  Murray. 
"Them  boar  hounds  ain't  mine." 

"  If  that  is  the  case,"  said  Allan,  who  had  known  it  per- 
fectly well,  "  there  will  be  nothing  for  you  to  do  but  wait 
until  father  or  Mr.  Hamilton  Montague  comes  home." 

"By  God,  sir,"  cried  Henderson,  "that's  hardly  fair; 
we've  been  after  that  nigger  since  daybreak,  Mr.  Mon- 
tague." (Allan's  resolute  demeanor  had  taken  the  bluster 
out  of  him,  and  his  pistol  was  no  longer  in  sight.) 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Allan.  "  That  makes  no  difference. 
If  your  negro  is  there,  he  will  stay  there  ;  he  will  keep,  I 
fancy." 

"  When  will  your  father  be  back?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  He  is  out  helping  you  now.  Some  of 
them  ought  to  be  home  soon,  and  if  they  want  to  turn 
those  dogs  loose  upon  their  horses,  they  can  say  so." 

The  crowd  fell  back  a  few  paces  and  began  to  whisper 
among  themselves.  "  Spread  out,  boys,"  cried  Hender- 
son, suddenly.  "We'll  watch  the  place  and  wait." 

"Send  the  dogs  round,"  put  in  another;  "make  sure 
the  nigger's  not  got  out  yet." 

The  fellow  Murray  plunged  into  the  frantic  pack  and 
by  main  strength  dragged  out  one  of  the  dogs,  the  one  he 
had  had  in  leash  and  had  just  released.  He  led  him  slowly 
round  the  great  building,  the  spectators  meanwhile  wait- 


THE  CRISIS  135 

ing  breathlessly.  The  dog  gave  no  sign,  and  came  back 
and  plunged  into  the  pack.  "  He's  still  in  there,"  said 
Murray,  adding,  with  a  sneer  —  "  the  stableman !  " 

Allan  paid  no  heed,  but  stood  quietly  waiting.  None 
of  the  men  could  have  guessed  from  his  demeanor  that 
he  was  in  reality  perfectly  desperate,  and  only  striving 
blindly  to  defer  the  end.  The  doom  of  the  negro  was 
now  sealed ;  Allan  knew  that  his  uncle  or  his  father  would 
be  as  anxious  to  get  at  him  as  the  rest,  and  would  SOOR 
find  a  way.  It  could  be  only  a  question  of  minutes,  also, 
before  some  of  them  appeared.  Had  not  the  sounds  of  the 
chase  been  audible  for  miles  around?  He  was  striving  to 
think  what  he  should  do  when  the  crisis  came. 

"  You  are  sure  you  recognized  the  man  who  ran  in 
there?"  asked  Henderson,  suddenly,  approaching  him. 
Allan  could  see  that  his  "  bluff  "  had  not  fallen  flat  with 
Henderson  —  the  overseer  was  plainly  alarmed  at  the 
thought  that  while  he  was  waiting  here,  the  fugitive 
might  be  making  good  his  escape. 

"I  am  absolutely  certain,"  Allan  answered.  "I  was 
riding  up  myself,  and  I  saw  the  dogs  coming." 

"Why  doesn't  the  fellow  call  out,  then,  Mr.  Mon- 
tague?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  Allan's  reply.  "  I've  been  shout- 
ing to  him,  but  he  hears  the  dogs,  and  I  think  he  is  still 
frightened  and  hiding." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it,"  exclaimed  Hender- 
son, with  an  oath.  "  By  thunder,  it'll  be  pretty  tough  if 
we're  to  lose  that  man  after  all !  " 

Allan  made  no  reply.  But  then  suddenly  a  wild  idea 
burst  upon  his  mind ;  he  started  inwardly.  A  moment 
afterward,  controlling  his  voice  by  a  desperate  effort,  he 
said  :  — 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  will  do,  if  you  want  me  to.  I  will 
see  if  I  can  get  in  there  and  find  him." 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  the  other  replied. 

Allan  turned.  In  the  crowd  of  negroes  who  stood 
about,  including  now  every  soul  upon  the  place  who  was 
old  enough  to  walk,  Allan  espied  Pericles,  the  butler. 


136  MANASSAS 

"  Pericles,"  he  called,  "  come  here !  " 

A  grave  and  stately  old  negro  approached,  and  Allan 
took  one  of  the  two  revolvers  from  his  belt  and  handed  it 
to  him. 

"  Pericles,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  to  stand  here  and 
watch  that  stable  door.  Let  nobody  touch  it,  mind  you 
now  !  " 

"I  see  any  white  trash  breakin'  into  our  do's,"  said 
Pericles,  grimly  ;  and  Allan  turned  away. 

Once  out  of  the  circle  of  light  he  broke  into  a  run.  He 
sped  straight  to  the  cabin  where  lived  Taylor  Tibbs,  the 
coachman,  and  Avhere  his  wife,  Tilly,  the  head  laundress 
of  the  plantation,  stood  in  the  doorway,  shaking  with 
fright. 

"Tilly,"  said  Allan,  sternly,  "come  inside." 

She  was  almost  too  terrified  to  obey.  Her  young  master 
made  sure  that  they  were  alone,  and  then  demanded, 
"Where  is  Tibbs?" 

"  I  dunno,  Marse  Allan  —  "  began  the  woman,  but  Allan 
stopped  her  with  a  swift  gesture. 

"Don't  lie  to  me,"  he  said  sternly.  "Listen  to  me. 
I  saw  Tibbs  go  into  that  stable  with  the  runaway,  and  I 
know  he  came  out  again.  You  know  it,  too,  else  you'd  be 
over  there  instead  of  here.  Tibbs  is  here,  somewhere,  hid- 
ing, and  I  want  him  —  I  want  him  instantly.  If  he  will 
come  out  now,  I  will  promise  him  he  will  not  be  punished  ; 
but  if  you  don't  find  him,  as  sure  as  he's  born,  I'll  have  him 
skinned  alive  to-morrow  !  " 

"Marse  Allan,"  gasped  the  woman;  but  before  she 
could  say  more  a  board  in  the  centre  of  the  room  lifted  up, 
disclosing  underneath  the  long  yellow  face  of  Tibbs  ;  he 
was  in  the  "  potato  hole,"  his  white  eyes  shining  and  his 
white  teeth  chattering  with  terror. 

"  Marse  Allan,"  he  began. 

"Shut  up  !"  said  Allan.  "Get  up  —  quick!  Listen 
to  me  now,  and  don't  take  too  long  to  understand.  I  want 
to  save  that  runaway." 

"  Marse  Allan,"  gasped  Tibbs,  again. 

"  Do  you  know  where  he's  hidden  ?  "  Allan  rushed  on. 


THE  CRISIS  137 

"Yes,  Marse  Allan." 

"  Then  come  with  me,  and  do  what  I  tell  you,  quick  !  " 

He  turned  and  dashed  away,  the  negro  at  his  heels  ;  when 
he  came  within  sight  of  the  stables  he  slowed  down,  and 
walked  into  the  midst  of  the  group.  "  This  way,"  he  said 
to  Tibbs,  and  added  to  Henderson,  "  Here's  our  coachman ; 
we'll  see  what's  the  matter  with  that  boy." 

They  went  around  to  the  rear  of  the  stables,  followed  by 
Henderson  and  several  others,  and  by  Murray,  sneering. 
On  the  ground  lay  the  ladder,  which  Jerry  had  used  in 
climbing  to  the  door  in  the  loft. 

"Put  it  up,  Tibbs,"  said  Allan,  "and  go  ahead." 

The  frightened  man  led  the  way,  and  the  two  disap- 
peared in  the  dark  hole.  "  Now  !  "  whispered  Allan. 
"  Quick  !  Where  is  that  man  ?  " 

"He  clum  in  de  grain  bin,  Marse  Allan,"  Tibbs  re- 
sponded. "  I  tole  him  to  dig  down  an'  hide." 

"  Show  the  way  —  quick  !  "  cried  Allan. 

"  He  may  shoot,"  panted  the  other. 

"No,  it's  too  dark,"  was  the  reply.  "But  we  must 
chance  it.  Go  on  !  " 

He  pushed  the  reluctant  fellow  before  him,  over  the  deep 
haymow,  and  down  a  ladder,  and  along  a  passage  behind 
the  stalls,  where  the  horses  were  stamping  and  whinnying 
in  terror.  At  last  Tibbs  stopped. 

"  He  was  in  da,"  he  whispered,  under  his  breath. 

"  Call  him,"  said  Allan.     "Make  him  understand." 

"  Joe,  Joe  !  "  panted  Tibbs.  "  Joe  —  whar  is  yo'  ? 
Hyar's  somebody  to  help  yo'  —  don't  shoot  !  " 

There  came  no  reply. 

"  Try  again  !  Louder  !  "  whispered  Allan,  wild  with  the 
suspense. 

"  Joe  !  "  cried  Tibbs.  "  Hey,  yo'  Joe  !  We  want  to 
help  yo'  —  come  out !  " 

There  was  a  sudden  creaking  sound,  and  a  hoarse  voice 
panted,  "  Ha  ?  " 

"  Hyar's  somebody  to  help  yo',"  gasped  Tibbs.  "  Don't 
shoot,  don't  shoot !  "  Tibbs's  voice  shook  with  fright  as 
if  he  had  an  ague. 


138  MANASSAS 

"Tell  him  to  take  off  his  shoes,"  Allan  whispered 
swiftly.  He  had  to  repeat  the  message  before  the  puzzled 
Tibbs  could  be  induced  to  give  it ;  Allan,  in  the  meantime, 
was  seated  upon  the  floor,  hastily  removing  his  own. 

"  Hand  them  out,"  Allan  commanded,  and  Tibbs  groped 
his  way  in  the  black  darkness,  and  at  last  brought  to  Allan 
a  pair  of  heavy  mud-soaked  "negro  shoes."  He  slipped 
them  on  with  trembling  fingers,  giving  his  own  to  Tibbs, 
saying,  "Tell  him  to  put  them  on,  and  hide  again." 

In  a  moment  they  were  groping  their  way  back.  At  the 
foot  of  the  ladder  Allan  halted  ;  swiftly,  his  voice  quiver- 
ing, he  whispered  his  orders  to  Tibbs.  Tibbs  managed  to 
understand  at  last  —  he  was  gasping,  "  Glory,  glory ! 
Marse  Allan,"  as  the  two  ran  up  the  ladder  again. 

Allan  gazed  out.  The  crowd  was  staring  up  at  him. 
"  Couldn't  find  him,"  he  said.  "  I  think  he  must  have  got 
out  before." 

He  heard  Murray's  laugh  of  derision.  "  Go  on  down," 
he  said  to  Tibbs. 

Henderson  had  seized  a  lantern  ;  he  suspected  some 
ruse  —  he  held  it  up  and  made  sure  that  Tibbs  was  Tibbs. 
The  negro  descended,  and  as  he  neared  the  ground,  pushed 
the  ladder  so  that  it  fell.  "  Look  out !  "  he  cried,  and 
sprang  out  of  the  way;  Henderson  dodged,  and  as  he  did 
so  Allan  swung  out  and  dropped  lightly.  Thus  no  one 
saw  the  thick  shoes  he  had  on. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said  to  Henderson.  "  If  the  fellow's 
there,  he  was  too  scared  to  come  out.  You'll  just  have  to 
wait  until  father  comes  back  ;  he'll  be  here  any  minute 
now." 

The  man  turned  away  with  an  oath.  The  crowd  of 
negroes  followed  him  around  toward  the  front  door  again, 
and  Allan  lagged  behind.  Left  in  the  darkness,  he 
turned  and  slowly  moved  away.  His  heart  was  leaping 
madly;  he  could  scarcely  walk  —  he  was  frantic  with 
suspense  and  dread.  But  he  held  himself  together,  until 
he  had  rounded  one  of  the  outhouses ;  then  suddenly  he 
leaped  forward  and  dashed  blindly  away.  It  was  pitch 
dark  ;  he  sped  past  the  negro  quarters,  out  through  the 


THE  CRISIS  139 

gardens,  over  a  wall,  and  then  through  a  field  of  young 
corn.  The  huge  shoes  hurt  his  feet,  and  caught  in  the  soft 
soil,  but  he  plunged  on  like  mad. — Oh,  God,  what  a  relief 
it  was  to  be  doing  something ! 

And  meanwhile  Taylor  Tibbs,  repeating  his  lesson  to 
himself  in  a  frenzy  of  fright,  had  strolled  around  to  where 
Murray,  the  slave  catcher,  stood  with  Henderson. 

"You  fool!"  the  former  was  saying,  and  he  added  a 
string  of  oaths. 

"How  did  I  know?"  snarled  Henderson.  "What  does 
the  fellow  want  to  lie  to  me  for?" 

"I  don't  know  that  no  more'n  you  do,"  replied 
Murray;  "but  I  know  he  lied — I  know  my  dogs  too  well. 
How'd  he  tell,  anyway,  in  the  dark?" 

"He  could  tell!  He  could  tell  easy!"  suddenly  cried 
a  voice. 

The  man  turned.  It  was  Taylor  Tibbs.  "What  do 
you  know  about  it,  you  yellow  monkey?"  demanded 
Murray. 

"Know!"  cried  Tibbs.  "Didn't  I  seen  him  myself? 
Dqn  't  yo '  suppose  I  knows  who  belong  in  my  stable  ? ' ' 

"Where  were  you?"  demanded  Henderson. 

"Whar  was  I?  I  stood  right  over  da!"  exclaimed 
Tibbs,  pointing.  "I  seen  dem  dogs  comin' — I  hearn  the 
fellow  shout  dey  was  arter  him.  He  no  mo'n  got  in  de 
do7,  either!" 

"But  where  is  he  then?"  roared  Henderson,  in  a  fury. 

"He  done  clum  out  dat  back  window,"  cried  Tibbs. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  Murray. 

"I  means  what  I  says.  I  done  tole  Marse  Allan,  but  he 
say  he  seen  de  dogs  go  roun'  da,  an'  dey'd  smelt  him. 
But  I  knows  what  I  seen.  I  tell  you  I  seen  him  jump  out 
dat  window  an '  run — an '  I  tell  you  dem  old  dogs  ain  't  jes ' 
no  good ! ' ' 

"You're  lying,  you're  lying!"  shouted  Murray,  shaking 
his  fist  in  Tibb's  face.  But  Tibbs  would  not  be  silenced 
— and  Henderson,  more  wild  with  uncertainty  than  ever, 
seized  Murray  suddenly  by  the  arm.  ' 

"Take  one  of  the  other  dogs,"  he  cried.     "Do  what  I 


140  MANASSAS 

say!    I  tell  you  they've  no  reason  for  lying — do  what  I 
say!" 

And  Murray  again  dashed  forward  and  seized  one  of  his 
yelping  curs  by  the  back  of  the  neck.  "With  the  negroes 
at  his  heels  he  strode  around  to  the  rear,  underneath  the 
opening,  and  set  it  down.  The  dog  gave  one  sniff  at  the 
ground,  then  raised  its  head  and  emitted  a  howl,  and 
shot  away  like  an  arrow  in  the  darkness.  An  instant 
later  the  whole  pack,  yelling  like  a  thousand  demons, 
swept  round  the  corner  and  vanished  in  pursuit. 


CHAPTER  VII 


FOR  a  moment  the  two  men  stood  staring  at  each  other 
in  consternation. 

"What  does  that  mean?"  gasped  Henderson. 

"It  means  we've  been  fooled!"  shouted  Murray,  with 
a  cry  of  rage.  "That  nigger  got  out  since  we  came!" 

"He  did  no  such  thing,"  put  in  one  of  the  men,  instantly, 
"for  I've  been  watching  here  every  minute  of  the  time! 
There's  not  a  soul  come  out  of  that  place,  except  the  two 
you  saw  yourself." 

Murray  could  only  reply  with  profanity.  "I  believe 
those  dogs  have  led  us  wild  the  whole  day,"  exclaimed 
Henderson;  and  without  waiting  to  hear  the  other's 
reply,  he  turned  and  dashed  after  them.  The  rest  fol- 
lowed, with  the  troop  of  excited  negroes  at  their  heels, 
shouting  and  whooping  with  glee  at  the  sudden  new  turn 
of  events. 

They  left  the  stable  yard  black  and  silent,  deserted  save 
for  one  person — Taylor  Tibbs.  The  instant  the  crowd  was 
out  of  sight,  Tibbs  darted  to  where  his  master's  horse  was 
tied,  and  led  him  over  to  the  door. 

"Joe,  Joe!"  he  called,  hoarse  with  excitement  and 
anxiety.  * '  Quick,  it 's  yo '  one  chance ! ' ' 

He  crouched,  and  listened  for  a  moment.  There  was  a 
shuffling  inside.  "Open  de  do'!"  cried  Tibbs.  "Hurry 
up — open  de  do ' ! " 

And  a  moment  later  the  barrier  swung  back,  and  *  *  Dutch 
Joe"  peered  out.  "Jump!"  cried  Tibbs,  and  leaped  upon 
the  horse  himself.  The  negro  was  behind  him  almost  as 
soon,  and  Tibbs  smote  the  animal  a  blow  upon  the  neck 
that  made  him  leap,  and  they  went  across  the  yard  and 
out  into  the  darkness  beyond,  as  if  shot  from  a  catapult. 

10  141 


142  MANASSAS 

In  the  meantime  the  men  were  tearing  after  the  dogs — 
out  through  the  garden  and  the  corn-field.  "We'll  catch 
him  yet,"  Murray  was  panting.  "They're  close  to  him 
now,  don't  you  hear  them?" 

The  dogs  were  baying  like  mad.  Short  and  sharp  was 
this  chase — the  words  were  scarcely  out  of  the  slave 
catcher's  mouth  before  a  pistol  shot  rang  out.  "They've 
got  him!"  he  screamed.  "Hi,  hi!  After  him!  Go  for 
him !  Give  it  to  him ! ' ' 

The  rest  of  the  crowd  took  up  the  chorus.  The  dogs 
were  only  a  few  rods  ahead,  and  had  halted.  "He's  up 
a  tree!"  Henderson  panted.  "Look  out,  he  may  shoot! 
Keep  back  with  those  lights  there!" 

This  cry  abated  considerably  the  zeal  of  the  mob  which 
had  been  trailing  over  the  corn-field.  The  negroes  stopped, 
and  only  four  or  five  of  the  hunters  went  on  without  slack- 
ening. Beyond  the  field  was  a  rough  fence,  and  beyond 
that  the  great  orchard  of  the  plantation,  at  the  edge  of 
which  the  dogs  were  grouped,  leaping  up  and  down,  bark- 
ing frantically. 

"Hi,  yi!"  shouted  Murray.  "Hold  him,  hold  him! 
Spread  round  there,  boys;  we  won't  lose  him."  And 
then  suddenly  the  man  stopped,  and  his  jaw  fell.  From 
out  of  the  darkness  had  come  a  loud  hail : — 

"Hello,  there!  What  in  the  name  of  creation  is  the 
matter  with  you  people  ? ' ' 

"Who  is  that?"  roared  Henderson. 

"It's  I,  Allan  Montague,"  came  the  voice.  "Those 
infernal  dogs  of  yours  have  got  after  me!" 

The  pursuers  were  too  dumfounded  to  find  words;  they 
stood  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

"I  say!"  yelled  the  voice  again,  louder  than  ever.  "I 
say  there,  will  you  call  those  dogs  off,  or  do  you  want 
me  to  shoot  another  of  them?  Speak  up  quick,  for  I 
won't  stand  much  more  of  this  business." 

Henderson  sprang  forward  with  a  cry  of  fury,  and  hav- 
ing something  at  last  to  vent  his  disappointment  upon, 
seized  a  stick  and  plunged  into  the  midst  of  the  pack, 
laying  about  him  like  a  wild  man.  Even  the  boar  hounds 


THE  CRISIS  143 

were  daunted  by  his  onset  and  gave  way,  though  only  for 
a  short  distance.  They  still  stood  watching  warily,  and 
snarling  now  and  then. 

"By  Heaven,  this  is  too  much!"  the  occupant  of  the 
tree  was  raging.  "I  tell  you  those  dogs  of  yours  have 
got  to  be  taken  away  from  here  pretty  soon.  Why, 
nobody  is  safe  within  miles  of  them." 

The  hunters  gathered  about  underneath,  staring  up. 
' '  How  did  this  happen  ? ' '  cried  the  shrill  voice  of  Murray. 

* '  Happen ! ' '  echoed  Allan.  l  '  It  happened  that  I  set  out 
to  hunt  for  the  fellow  they  had  run  into  the  stable,  and 
the  first  thing  I  knew  I  heard  them  after  me!" 

"Confound  them,  anyhow,"  growled  Henderson. 

"Now  look  a-here!"  exclaimed  Murray,  suddenly, 
"there's  some  trick  about  this  yere— " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Allan,  sharply. 

"I  mean  what  I  say,"  shrilled  the  other.  "You've  been 
with  that  nigger  somehow,  and  I  know  it !  I  know  them 
dogs  o'  mine,  an'  I  ain't  the  sort  o'  person  you  can  fool. 
Bring  a  light  here,  some  of  you  back  there,  bring  a  light ! ' ' 

Allan  dropped  swiftly  to  the  ground;  he  did  not  want 
his  shoes  to  be  seen.  ' '  What  is  it  you  are  trying  to  say  ? ' ' 
cried  he.  "You  mean  that  I've  been  stealing  your 
runaway  ? ' ' 

"Bring  the  light  here,"  repeated  Murray,  insistently, 
and  he  seized  it  and  clambered  up  into  the  tree,  peering 
among  the  branches.  "There's  no  nigger  here,"  he  said, 
still  in  his  loud,  angry  tone.  "But  I  know  what  I'm 
talking  about,  and  I  tell  you  there's  dirty  work  been  done 
here.  And  what's  more — " 

He  stopped.  Suddenly  out  of  the  darkness  had  come  a 
stern  voice :  '  l  Here,  here !  What 's  all  this  about  ? ' ' 

And  Allan's  heart  leaped  up — it  was  his  uncle.  The 
crowd  suddenly  noticed  then,  what  it  had  failed  to  notice 
before,  the  approach  of  a  party  of  horsemen.  Five  or 
six  rode  into  view — the  expedition  which  had  left  the 
Hall  that  afternoon. 

"What's  all  this  about?"  demanded  Mr.  Montague, 
again,  and  Allan  sprang  forward. 


144  MANASSAS 

"This  fellow  Murray's  got  his  dogs  here,"  he  cried, 
1 '  and  they  've  been  running  our  servants  all  about  the  place. 
They  chased  one  of  the  stable-boys  into  the  stable,  and 
Henderson  wanted  to  shoot  me  because  I  wouldn't  let 
him  break  in  the  door.  Then  the  first  thing  I  knew  the 
dogs  had  gotten  after  me,  and  I  had  to  climb  a  tree  to 
get  away  from  them." 

"I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Montague,"  began  Henderson,  depre- 
catingly,  "but  I—" 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  from  you,"  snapped  the  other. 
"I  want  to  know  what  this  talk  meant  that  I  heard  just 
now,  somebody  accusing  my  nephew  of  stealing  his 
niggers." 

"I  didn't  say  that!"  cried  Murray,  in  his  high-pitched 
voice.  "But  I  say  that  I  know  them  dogs  of  mine,  and 
that  there's  something  wrong.  That  nigger  was  in  that 
barn,  and  I  know  it,  and  I  tell  you — " 

And  suddenly  a  dark  figure  leaped  past  Allan  and 
strode  toward  the  man.  "Shut  up!  Shut  up!"  cried  a 
furious  voice,  which  he  knew  for  his  cousin  'Dolph's. 
"What  do  you  mean,  you  dog — do  you  know  who  it  is 
you're  talking  to?  Don't  you  let  me  hear  another  word 
from  you  now,  or  by  Heaven,  I'll  pound  you  down  into 
the  ground  so  deep  you  won't  get  out  in  a  week,  you 
impudent,  dried-up,  little  Irish  monkey,  you!  Hasn't 
our v whole  family  been  out  all  day  chasing  your  infernal 
nigger  for  you,  and  you  stand  up  there  and  talk  at  my 
cousin — why,  by  God,  sir,  if  you  don't  make  tracks  out 
of  here,  I'll  shoot  you  as  full  of  holes  as  a  pepper-box 
in  a  quarter  of  a  minute  more!"  The  voice  of  Murray 
was  not  heard  again  that  evening. 

It  is  pleasant  to  have  a  big  cousin,  Allan  thought,  but 
could  not  help  feeling  uncomfortable,  knowing  his  un- 
worthiness  of  the  gallant  defence. 

There  was  no  longer  any  one  to  deny  the  proposition 
that  the  dogs  were  worthless.  A  few  cuts  from  'Dolph's 
riding-whip  served  to  cure  them  of  what  lingering  desire 
they  had  to  trouble  Allan,  and  then  the  party  went  back 


THE  CRISIS  145 

to  the  house,  listening  on  the  way  to  his  account  of  the 
mischances  of  the  evening.  Randolph  was  hilarious  at 
the  thought  of  Allan  chased  up  a  tree,  and  even  the 
baffled  hunters  could  not  help  joining  in  his  laughter, — 
all  save  Henderson,  who  was  speechless  with  rage  and 
chagrin,  besides  being  half  ready  to  faint  with  exhaus- 
tion. 

"You  men  haven't  your  horses  with  you,"  said  Mr. 
Montague,  whose  anger  was  now  abated.  "You'd  best 
spend  the  night  here — our  people  can  put  you  up,  and 
you  can  start  out  afresh  in  the  morning." 

It  had  been  agreed  by  the  party  that  the  negro  must 
have  succeeded  in  throwing  the  dogs  off  the  scent  in  the 
swamp,  and  they  were  determined  to  make  another  attempt 
to  pick  up  the  trail. 

Allan  waited  until  he  had  seen  that  the  stable  was  closed 
and  silent — then  he  made  his  way  into  the  house  by  a 
side  door  and  fled  to  his  room.  First  he  hid  away  his 
unusual  and  perilous  foot-gear,  and  afterward  he  sank 
down  upon  the  bed  and  lay,  as  it  seemed,  for  an  eternity, 
realizing  what  had  happened  to  him  in  the  last  eventful 
hour,  and  letting  his  overstrained  nerves  calm  down. 
Later  in  the  evening  he  stole  out  and  sought  Taylor  Tibbs 
in  his  cabin. 

"I've  got  him  off  all  right,  Marse  Allan,"  said  the  glee- 
ful negro.  "Dey  nebber  find  him,  Marse  Allan!" 

"Where  is  he,  Tibbs?" 

"He's  hid  in  de  quarter.  He's  soun'  asleep,  Marse 
Allan — dey  nebber  find  him  da." 

"You  are  sure  no  one  will  betray  him?" 

"Hey?"  cried  Tibbs.  "Dey  nobody 'd  tell,  but  dey 
ain't  only  two  knows  it,  anyhow.  He  kin  stay  weeks  whar 
he  is,  Marse  Allan — doan'  we  all  know  dat  Henderson? 
An'  ain't  we  all  got  overseers  ourselves?" 

And  so  Allan  went  back  to  his  room.  The  burden  of 
the  runaway's  future  rested  upon  him  with  an  overwhelm- 
ing weight, — he  spent  hours  pacing  back  and  forth  silently 
in  his  room,  devising  schemes  to  save  him.  He  knew  that 


146  MANASSAS 

he  should  never  rest  until  the  man  was  in  Canada;  and 
between  Canada  and  Valley  Hall  was  a  vast  region  full  of 
perils  innumerable,  all  of  which  he  faced  now,  living  in 
the  soul  of  this  hunted  wretch,  and  tasting  in  all  its  bitter- 
ness the  reality  of  Slavery.  What  were  arguments  and 
distinctions  to  a  man  who  was  fleeing  from  cover  to  cover, 
with  a  whole  world  leagued  against  him,  with  all  its  power, 
its  organization,  and  its  intellect  bent  upon  his  destruction  ? 
Allan  had  heard  of  fugitives  who,  with  no  guide  save 
the  north  star,  had  travelled  upon  clear  nights,  hiding  by 
day  in  the  swamps;  of  others  who  had  been  provided  with 
a  compass,  and  had  put  a  firefly  in  its  case  to  light  it.  He 
strove  to  calculate  how  long  the  trip  would  take,  how  much 
food  the  man  would  have  to  carry  in  order  that  he  might 
have  to  confide  in  no  one.  Allan  had  also  heard  of  slaves 
who  had  bribed  steamboat  captains  to  hide  them, — he 
thought  of  this,  and  figured  up  his  own  resources.  He 
had  heard  of  others  who  had  gone  so  far  as  to  have  them- 
selves boxed  up  and  shipped  by  freight — of  one  fugitive 
who  had  been  taken  by  Adams  Express  Company  from 
Richmond  to  Philadelphia  in  a  box  two  feet  eight  inches, 
by  two,  by  three,  and  had  been  stood  upon  his  head  for 
hours  on  the  way.  Allan  thought  of  the  young  West- 
erner, and  wondered  if  they  might  not  try  this  plan. 

And  so  on  until  some  time  after  midnight,  when  sud- 
denly he  was  startled  to  hear  a  creak  outside  of  his  room, 
and  a  low  tap  upon  his  door. 

' '  Come  in, ' '  he  whispered,  and  it  opened,  and  the  yellow 
face  of  Taylor  Tibbs  peered  in ;  his  eyes  were  staring  wide 
with  fright. 

' '  Marse  Allan ! ' '  he  panted.    ' '  Marse  Allan ! ' ' 

"What  is  it?"  the  other  whispered,  springing  toward 
him. 

"It's  de  man,"  gasped  the  negro.  "He's  terr'ble  bad, 
Marse  Allan— I  t'ink  he  die." 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?" 

"I  dunno,  Marse  Allan,  but  he's  sick;  an'  he's  got 
fever,  an'  nobody  can't  manage  him  at  all." 


THE  CRISIS  147 

Allan,  who  had  been  partially  undressed,  slipped  on  his 
clothing  swiftly  and  followed  the  frightened  man  down 
the  stairs  and  out  of  the  house.  There  everything  lay 
silent,  now  in  full  moonlight.  A  dog  whimpered,  but 
Allan  spoke  to  him  swiftly  and  sped  on.  They  left  the 
1  'great  house"  and  ran  down  a  long,  tree-lined  road, 
coming  at  last  within  sight  of  the  scattered  buildings  of 
the  quarters,  where,  through  the  chinks  of  one  of  the 
cabins,  Allan  could  see  a  light.  As  he  drew  nearer  he 
heard  low  voices  within,  and  he  cast  an  anxious  glance  in 
the  direction  of  the  house  of  "Wilson,  the  overseer  of  this 
settlement,  about  a  hundred  yards  away.  There,  however, 
everything  was  still. 

Pushing  aside  the  blanket  which  made  up  for  the  defi- 
ciencies of  a  half -broken  door,  they  entered  the  hut,  where 
a  terrible  sight  met  Allan's  eyes.  The  place  was  low  and 
small,  with  bare,  earthen  floor,  and  air  stifling  with  the 
smoke  which  came  from  the  blazing  fagots  in  the  fire- 
place. It  was  the  custom  of  the  negroes  to  keep  a  fire 
upon  the  hottest  nights.  This  gave  also  the  only  light  in 
the  cabin — the  window  was  covered  by  a  blanket.  Against 
the  wall  half  a  dozen  black  men  were  crouching,  gazing  in 
fear  and  uncertainty  at  Allan.  The  runaway  lay  upon  a 
pile  of  blankets  and  rags  on  the  floor  in  one  corner. 

It  was  Allan's  first  glimpse  of  him  in  the  light,  and  he 
stopped  short,  catching  his  breath.  The  negro  was  almost 
naked,  what  clothing  was  left  upon  him  was  in  shreds; 
his  skin  had  been  cut  by  thorns  until  its  color  seemed 
changed — the  blankets  upon  which  he  rested  were  soaked 
in  blood.  He  lay  flat  upon  his  back,  his  mouth  half -open 
and  his  eyes  closed;  his  chest  was  lifting  up  and  down — 
he  breathed  still  with  the  same  hoarse  sound,  and  about 
his  lips  there  played  a  bluish-colored  foam. 

"How  long  has  he  been  like  this?"  Allan  demanded. 

"Ever  since  he  come,  massa,"  answered  one  of  the 
watchers.  "He  been  like  he  crazy — we  kain't  hardly  hold 
him." 

Allan  glanced  round,  noticing  that  the  place  was  in 
confusion,  the  two  or  three  pieces  of  furniture  that  were 


148  MANASSAS 

in  it  being  upset.  He  went  toward  the  fugitive — and  as 
he  did  so  a  cry  of  horror  escaped  him. 

1  'Dutch  Joe"  bore  the  signs  of  all  his  ordeals.  They 
turned  Allan  sick  as  he  discovered  them.  The  man  was 
upon  his  back,  but  his  arms  and  sides  showed  what  was  be- 
neath— they  had  been  ploughed  up  with  the  lash  until  the 
flesh  looked  like  the  surface  of  a  washboard.  The  negro's 
wrists  were  purple,  and  swelled  out  as  large  as  his  hands; 
his  thumbs,  too,  were  bloated  and  horrible  to  look  at — 
Allan  thought  of  the  matter-of-fact  sentence  of  his  uncle 's, 
— '  '  He  kept  him  tied  up  by  the  wrists  at  night ! ' '  His  feet 
were  naked,  and  about  one  ankle  was  the  mark  of  the 
ring,  a  terrible  sore,  worn  to  the  bone,  festering,  and  with 
flies  buzzing  in  it. 

For  fully  a  minute  more  there  was  not  a  sound  save  the 
fugitive's  breathing.  Allan  knelt  motionless, — and  the 
negroes  crouched  and  stared.  The  young  man  put  his 
hand  upon  the  forehead  of  the  prostrate  giant ;  it  was  hot 
as  fire. 

He  noticed  his  lips  moving  and  bent  low,  listening; 
at  first,  however,  he  could  not  make  out  any  sound, — the 
negro's  voice  was  almost  gone,  and  the  rasping  in  his 
throat  drowned  out  every  murmur.  The  minutes  passed 
by— Allan  had  turned  to  ask  one  of  the  men  for  some  water 
to  cool  the  patient's  forehead,  when  he  heard  a  movement, 
and  turned  to  see  the  negro  struggling  to  raise  his  head. 
He  put  his  hand  on  his  arm,  and  the  man  seized  it  con- 
vulsively, in  a  grip  like  a  vise.  His  eyes,  now  open  wide, 
stared  into  vacancy. 

His  voice  had  grown  suddenly  audible. — "Let  me  go," 
he  cried,  "let  me  go!"  Frenzied  as  he  was,  it  sounded  to 
the  listeners  like  a  scream,  though  in  reality  it  was  the 
faintest  of  whispers. 

"I  say  I'm  a  free  man,"  he  rushed  on.  "I  tell  yo'  I'm 
as  free  as  yo'  is — I  won't  let  nobody  sell  me!  Don't  yo' 
hear  me — I've  got  my  papers — I'm  a  free  man,  I'm  a  free 
man!  I  ain't  afraid  of  yo'  guns,  I  tell  yo'  to  let  me 
alone — I  won't  go — dey  can't  nobody  make  me!  I've 
lived  in  Harrisburg  fo'teen  year — everybody  knows  me  in 


THE  CRISIS  149 

Harrisburg!  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  be  no  slave — yo'  let  me  be ! 
What  yo'  want  to  sell  me  fo' — I  ain't  hurt  nobody,  have 
I?  I  earns  my  way,  I  kin  work  as  good  as  any  man.  I 
was  a-goin'  back  home  to-day,  I  was — I  got  a  family  in 
Harrisburg — I  got  six  ehillun!  Who's  a-goin'  to  care  fo' 
my  ehillun  ef  yo'  sell  me?  My  woman's  sick— she  can't 
work  fo'  dem  ehillun.  Dey  ain't  nobody  cares  'bout  nigger 
ehillun,  dey'll  all  of  'em  starve!  But  dey's  my  ehillun, 
an'  I  tell  yo'  I'm  a-goin'  home!  Don't  yo'  make  no  mis- 
take, yo '  can 't  keep  me  hyar !  I  ain  't  af eered  o '  no  beatin  's, 
yo'  kin  cut  me  all  to  pieces — it  won't  do  no  good.  I 
won't  work  fo'  yo' — I  won't  work  fo'  nobody — I'll  run 
away  de  fust  chance  I  git,  an'  go  back  to  Harrisburg. 
Yo'  might  jes'  as  well  not  try  it — I'll  git  away  from  yo' 
every  time,  I  will ! ' ' 

His  grip  on  Allan's  hand  hurt  so  that  the  blood  rang 
in  the  young  man's  ears.  The  veins  stood  out  in  knots 
upon  the  negro's  forehead,  and  he  glared  like  a  wild 
beast,  struggling  to  raise  himself.  His  voice  rose  louder 
and  louder. 

"I'll  fight— yo'  can't  beat  me!  Yo'  got  no  right  to 
me — yo'  shan't  have  me!" — and  then  abruptly  he  stopped 
and  fell  back  with  a  gasp,  and  lay  for  a  minute  or  two 
panting. 

At  last  he  began  whispering  once  again.  "Git  away 
from  da!"  he  gasped,  opening  his  eyes.  "What  fo'  yo' 
want  to  follow  me?  What  did  I  do  to  yo'! — what  yo' 
hang  on  to  me  like  dat  fo'?  Ain't  yo'  tired  o'  dat  ugly 
yelpin'?  What  dem  men  goin'  give  yo'  fo'  botherin'  me? 
Dat's  right  now,  run!" 

Again  the  man  had  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture,  his 
eyes  wild  and  frantic. — "What  good  yo'  t'ink  it  goin'  do 
yo,'  to  burn  me  like  dat,  yo'  white  devil?  Ain't  yo'  tried 
enough  yit?  Don't  yo'  know  me  by  dis  time?  Don't  yo' 
know  I  ain't  de  workin'  kind?  It  don't  matter  what  yo' 
do — yo'  got  me  hyar  alone,  yo'  kin  do  what  yo'  likes. 
But  I'll  kill  yo'  some  day,  sure — ain't  yo'  never  'fraid  o' 
me — yo'  Henderson?  I'll  wait  fo'  yo' — my  time '11  come 
yet!  What  yo'  goin'  to  do  when  my  time  comes,  hey? 


150  MANASSAS 

s'pose  yo'  kill  me — yo'  t'ink  dat's  all?  I  wait  fo'  yo'! 
— /  wait  fo'  yo'  jes'  de  samel" 

11  Dutch  Joe"  had  staggered  suddenly  to  his  feet,  shak- 
ing off  those  who  sought  to  hold  him  down  as  if  they  had 
been  children.  His  giant  frame  stood  aloft  a  moment — 
then  suddenly  he  crouched,  glaring  ahead.  A  wild  gleam 
had  flashed  over  his  face — the  watchers  turned  in  terror, 
expecting  to  see  the  overseer  in  the  doorway.  "Ha,  yo' 
Henderson!"  the  negro  shrieked.  "Yo'  never  git  away 
from  me!  Mark  what  I  tell  yo' — by  God,  I'll  have  my 
turn!  Yo'  better  git  down  on  yo'  knees,  yo'  Jim  Hender- 
son !  Is  yo '  goin '  to  have  de  law  an '  de  guns  an '  de  dogs 
on  yo'  side  all  de  time?"  And  as  he  spoke  "Dutch  Joe" 
moved  inch  by  inch  upon  something  which  he  saw  in  the 
doorway ;  his  hands  were  crooked  like  the  talons  of  a  bird 
of  prey,  and  his  voice,  hoarse  and  terrible  with  his  pent- 
up  fury,  sounded  like  the  snarl  of  some  wild  animal. 

"Git  out  o'  de  way!"  he  panted.  "Git  out  o'  de  way! 
I  see  yo' — yo'  can't  hide  from  me!  Come  out  hyar — 
ain't  I  waited  fo'  yo',  yo'  Henderson?" — and  then  sud- 
denly he  lunged  forward,  clutching  into  space,  his  voice 
rising  into  a  piercing,  unearthly  scream:  "Ha,  ha — / 
got  yo'!" 

He  took  two  steps  before  he  stumbled  and  fell  crashing 
to  the  ground.  The  terrified  men  sprang  toward  him — 
he  rolled  over,  his  face  distorted  with  a  spasm,  his  eyes 
starting  from  his  head.  His  cries  were  suddenly  stilled, 
and  as  Allan  bent  over  him  there  came  a  gush  of  blood 
from  his  mouth  and  a  shudder  passed  across  his  face.  His 
muscles  quivered,  and  then  he  lay  still. 

For  several  moments  there  was  not  a  sound  in  the  cabin, 
while  the  witnesses  of  the  scene  stood  spellbound  with 
horror.  When  at  last  a  move  was  made,  it  was  by  Allan, 
who  went  to  the  doorway  and,  pushing  aside  the  blanket, 
gazed  out.  He  half  expected  to  come  face  to  face  with 
Henderson,  so  much  had  he  been  shaken  by  the  vision  of 
the  dying  slave.  But  out  in  the  moonlight  everything 
lay  still. 


THE  CRISIS  151 

He  went  back,  where  the  negroes  still  crouched,  gaz- 
ing at  him  with  their  staring  white  eyes.  He  went  to 
the  body,  bending  over  it.  "They  will  never  find  him 
now,"  he  whispered,  in  answer  to  Tibbs's  look  of  in- 
quiry; and  then,  overcome  by  a  sudden  burst  of  anguish, 
he  rushed  from  the  cabin.  For  minutes  he  paced  up  and 
down  in  the  moonlight  outside,  his  hands  pressed  to  his 
temples;  then  all  at  once  he  halted  and  listened,  per- 
plexed. He  heard  voices  somewhere. 

He  had  passed  the  last  of  the  negro  houses;  the  house 
of  Wilson,  the  overseer,  lay  not  far  to  the  right.  There 
was  a  light  in  one  of  the  windows — he  heard  some  one 
talking,  and  once  he  saw  a  figure  pass  by  the  light. 

"What's  the  matter  there?"  Allan  whispered  to  him- 
self. "What  are  they  doing  awake  now?  What — " 

And  then  suddenly  an  idea  flashed  across  his  mind, 
making  his  heart  jump  violently,  and  sending  a  strange 
thrill  of  fear  through  him.  "Why — why!"  he  gasped. 
"Isn't  Henderson  sleeping  there?" 

He  tried  to  laugh  at  the  thought;  but  then,  as  if 
moved  half  without  his  own  volition,  he  started  toward 
the  house.  Soon  he  could  hear  voices  in  the  room — one 
of  them  he  knew  for  Henderson's.  It  was  loud  and  ex- 
cited— and  Allan  strode  on  and  pushed  open  the  door  of 
the  house  and  entered. 

He  stood  in  the  hallway  for  an  instant.  There  was  a 
bundle  of  some  sort  at  his  feet — it  gave  him  a  horrible 
start  as  he  touched  it.  Then  he  stepped  over  it — went  to 
the  door  from  which  shone  the  light,  and  opened  it. 

In  one  swift  glance  Allan  took  in  the  whole  scene.  He 
was  in  Wilson's  "office."  One  side  of  it  was  lined  with 
shelves,  upon  which  were  rows  of  shoes,  rolls  of  "negro- 
cloth,"  and  piles  of  hats  and  blankets;  upon  the  walls 
hung  guns  and  antlers,  handcuffs,  and  whips.  About  the 
room  cots  had  been  put  up  for  the  night,  where  the 
strangers  had  been  sleeping;  now,  however,  they  were 
sitting  up,  and  by  the  light  of  a  candle  Allan  saw 
that  their  faces  were  ghastly  white.  They  were  all  lis- 
tening to  Henderson,  who  was  crouching  on  his  bed  in  a 


152  MANASSAS 

corner  of  the  room.  The  man's  head  had  been  swathed 
anew  in  bandages,  and  his  voice  had  a  muffled  sound  as  he 
talked — swiftly,  excitedly.  "I  tell  you,  you're  fools!" 
he  was  crying.  " Don't  you  suppose  I've  any  sense?  I 
tell  you—" 

And  then  suddenly  his  eyes  turned  toward  the  door- 
way. Allan's  soul  froze  as  he  watched  him — the  man's 
every  hair  seemed  to  bristle  out  and  crackle;  his  eyes 
dilated — suddenly,  as  if  tl^ey  would  burst;  his  body  stif- 
fened and  he  flung  up  his  hands,  and  his  voice  rose  into  a 
scream  that  beat  and  rang  against  the  walls  of  the  room : 
"Oh,  my  good  God,  my  good  God!  what's  that?  Look 
at  that!" 

The  company  turned,  petrified  —  staring  toward  the 
doorway.  For  an  instant  there  was  not  a  sound;  and 
then  suddenly  Wilson  leaped  up,  yelling  frantically,  "I 
say,  it's  Mr.  Allan!" 

For  the  first  time  it  flashed  over  Allan  what  was  the 
matter — that  it  was  he  who  was  the  cause  of  this ! 

"Is  it  you?  Is  it  you?"  Henderson  was  shouting 
wildly.  ' '  Answer  me !  Answer  me ! " 

"Why  —  what  in  the  world  do  you  mean?"  Allan 
cried  —  and  Henderson,  to  his  amazement,  sank  (Town 
and  buried  his  head  in  the  bedclothes,  and  burst  into  hys- 
terical sobbing.  * l  Oh,  my  soul ! ' '  Allan  heard  him  moan, 
in  the  voice  of  a  terrified  child.  "Oh,  what  a  thing  to 
do,  what  a  thing  to  do !  Oh,  have  mercy !  I  can 't  stand 
this!" 

"What  does  he  mean?"  cried  Allan  again,  seeing  the 
men  still  staring  at  him.  "What  in  Heaven's  name  has 
happened  to  you  people?" 

"You  frightened  him,  Mr.  Allan,"  said  Wilson,  hur- 
riedly— ' '  he  took  you  for  some  one  else. ' ' 

And  Henderson  sat  up,  the  tears  streaming  down  his 
cheeks.  "How  could  you  do  it?"  he  shouted.  "What 
in  hell  did  you  want  to  come  sneaking  into  this  room  like 
that  for  ?  Why,  it 's  enough  to  drive  a  man  mad ! ' ' 

"You  see,  Mr.  Allan" — put  in  Wilson  again,  "Hender- 
son vows  he's  just  seen  a  ghost!" 


THE  CRISIS  153 

"What!"  cried  Allan. 

"He  declares  he  saw  that  nigger,  sir!  We've  been  try- 
ing to  convince  him  it  was  a  nightmare." 

"You  are  fools,  you  are  fools!'*  screamed  Henderson, 
frantically.  "I  say  he  stood  right  there!  He  stood 
right  there,  and  I  saw  him  just  as  plain  as  I  see  you  now. 
Can't  you  understand  a  man,  Wilson — I  tell  you  the  nigger 
was  in  this  room!  He  walked  right  out  of  that  door!" 

"But  the  door  was  locked!"  cried  Wilson. 

"I  don't  care  if  it  was  locked  a  hundred  times!  I  tell 
you  the  nigger  went  through  it,  then !  It  was  his  ghost — 
he's  dead — that's  what's  the  matter,  do  you  hear  what  I 
say? — the  nigger's  dead!  I  know  it — I  don't  need  to  be 
told  it — he's  dead!  .And,  oh,  my  God,  I  killed  him  too, 
and  he's  after  me!  That  nigger's  after  me,  I  tell  you, 
and  he  '11  never  let  me  be,  as  sure  as  I  'm  alive !  He  stood 
right  there,  and  pointed  his  finger  at  me — his  eyes  shone 
like  a  tiger 's !  I  tell  you  I  could  feel  my  hair  move  when 
I  saw  him,  Wilson,  I  can  feel  the  chills  running  all  over 
me  still!" 

The  overseer's  voice  had  sunk  into  a  wail.  "Look  here, 
Jim  Henderson,"  burst  out  one  of  the  men — "you're  sick, 
that  what's  the  matter  with  you!" 

"I  know  I'm  sick,"  moaned  Henderson.  "I  ain't 
a-goin'  to  git  well,  either — I  know  it  as  well  as  anything. 
I've  got  my  death,  that's  what  I  have!  That  nigger's 
after  me,  he  won't  ever  let  me  alone.  I  saw  that  in  his 
eyes  just  now  when  he  stood  there. — What  do  you  sup- 
pose he'd  have  done  to  me  if  I'd  been  by  myself?  Didn't 
any  of  you  men  hear  anything?" 

"Not  until  you  let  out  that  yell,"  said  Wilson. 

"It  was  a  minute  before  I  could  make  a  sound,"  panted 
Henderson.  "I  sat  here  just  as  I  am  now,  watching  him, 
and  all  the  time  it  seemed  as  if  some  one  had  me  by  the 
throat.  I  thought  I  was  going  to  die  right  there.  You 
tell  me  it  was  a  dream — why,  I  hadn't  been  asleep  all 
night!  I  lay  here,  and  all  of  a  sudden  I  seemed  to  just 
feel  him  come  in!  I  sat  up — he  was  gray  color — I  could 
see  his  clothes  all  torn.  I  could  see  even  his  thumbs, 


154  MANASSAS 

too!" — And  so  the  man  went  on,  repeating  the  details 
of  his  story,  over  and  over  again.  In  his  fright  he  was 
almost  beside  himself — sometimes  he  would  laugh  hysteri- 
cally, sometimes  he  would  sob,  and  shudder,  and  wring 
his  hands.  All  the  time  his  eyes  kept  growing  wilder, 
and  the  flush  on  his  cheek  more  fevered — until  all  at  once, 
after  listening  to  perhaps  five  minutes  of  incoherent  pro- 
test, one  of  the  men  exclaimed,  "By  the  Lord,  I  believe 
the  fellow's  raving!" 

And  so  it  proved.  Allan  stood  motionless  and  horrified, 
watching  the  overseer's  delirium  growing.  He  was  soon 
seeing  "the  nigger"  once  more,  and  in  the  end  he  sprang 
up  in  a  mad  frenzy,  and  it  took  four  of  the  men  to  get 
him  back  to  the  bed.  In  the  fight  the  bandages  of  his 
wounds  were  torn  off  again,  and  again  he  was  a  mass  of 
blood.  In  the  midst  of  the  uproar  Allan  turned  away, 
and  went  back  to  the  house,  numb  with  awe.  He  sat  in 
his  own  room  and  waited — he  was  not  surprised  when 
before  long  he  heard  people  running  about — nor  in  the 
morning  either,  when  they  told  him  that  the  doctor  had 
been  sent  for,  and  that  Jim  Henderson  was  believed  to  be 
dying ! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Six  of  the  negroes  had  carried  the  body  of  "Dutch 
Joe"  out  to  the  swamp  at  night  and  buried  it;  and  Allan 
had  stood  by  the  grave  and  told  them  that  when  he  came 
to  his  own  they  should  be  free.  There  was  nothing  more 
that  he  could  do. 

On  the  next  day  it  chanced  that  as  he  was  strolling  down 
the  road  he  met  once  more  the  young  Westerner,  ''Car- 
ter, ' '  this  time  riding.  Moved  by  a  sudden  impulse  Allan 
stepped  out  in  front  of  him.  "May  I  talk  with  you  a 
moment,  please  ? ' '  he  asked. 

The  stranger  reined  up  his  horse.  "What  it  is?"  he 
inquired  in  surprise. 

"I  believe,"  Allan  began,  "that  there  is  a  negro  about 
here  whom  you  were  interested  in — " 

A  look  of  perplexity  crossed  the  other's  face.  "What 
negro?"  he  asked. 

"I  mean  the  runaway,"  said  Allan. 

But  the  stranger  only  stared  at  him.  "Why  in  the 
world  should  you  suppose  that  I  was  interested  in  the 
runaway?"  he  demanded. 

Allan  did  not  reply  for  a  moment;  then  he  went  on 
resolutely,  "It  would  be  too  bad  if  you  and  I  could  not 
understand  each  other.  I  know  what  your  danger  is, — 
but  I  do  not  feel  about  these  things  as  the  people  round 
here  do.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  the  negro  is  dead. ' ' 

The  other  gave  a  start.    ' '  Dead ! "  he  cried. 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  Allan,  ' l  he  was  hiding  in  our  quarters,  and 
he  died  of  exhaustion;  they  had  literally  hunted  him  to 
death." 

The  Westerner  continued  staring  for  a  moment,  in  dis- 
may; then  the  look  faded  from  his  face.  "That  is  too 
bad,"  he  said  quietly.  "But  why  have  you  not  made  the 
fact  known?" 

"Made  it  known?"  asked  Allan. 

155 


156  MANASSAS 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply.  "Did  you  not  know  that  there 
were  rewards  of  five  hundred  dollars  for  the  fellow — alive 
or  dead?" 

"Kewards!"  exclaimed  Allan,  perplexed. 

"Yes,  of  course, — you  were  entitled  to  them,  weren't 
you?  And  besides,  people  are  spending  their  time  hunt- 
ing for  him,  and  the  whole  country  is  alarmed  about  him; 
and  you  don't  tell  them  that  he  is  dead!  I  am  sorry  to 
have  to  say  it,  but  I  shall  regard  it  as  my  duty  to  make 
known  what  you  have  told  me,  sir.  I  bid  you  good 
morning. ' ' 

And  the  stranger  touched  his  horse  suddenly  and 
bounded  off,  leaving  Allan  staring  after  him  dum- 
founded.  "What  in  the  world  does  that  mean?"  he 
thought  to  himself.  * '  Have  I  made  a  mistake  ? ' ' 

But  it  was  not  long  before  he  thought  of  the  other 
explanation — that  the  man  had  suspected  a  trap.  "He 
saw  me  with  Henderson  on  the  steamer,"  Allan  exclaimed. 
"And  my,  but  wasn't  he  sharp  about  it!" 

He  weighed  the  two  possibilities,  but  was  left  in 
uncomfortable  uncertainty.  He  would  soon  know,  of 
course — he  waited  through  the  day,  half  prepared  for  an 
explosion.  None  came,  however,  and  toward  sundown 
he  rode  into  town  and  learned,  as  he  had  expected,  that 
"Carter"  had  left. 

"I  was  right  after  all,"  he  said  to  himself,  regretting 
that  he  had  not  been  bolder,  "I  lost  my  chance,  and 
I  shall  never  see  him  again." 

For  two  days  more  the  neighborhood  kept  up  its  search 
for  the  runaway — then  stopped,  and  little  by  little  men 
ceased  to  think  of  him.  It  was  not  so  with  Allan,  how- 
ever— the  memory  of  the  murdered  slave  haunted  him,  day 
and  night,  and  poisoned  his  life.  The  plantation  was  no 
longer  a  home  to  him;  he  had  turned  traitor.  It  was  cu- 
rious how  what  had  happened  had  changed  things  for  him 
there — the  negroes  had  come  to  know  that  he  was  their 
friend,  and  now  they  fled  to  him  with  all  their  wrongs, 
and  the  young  man's  every  hour  was  embittered  with  new 


THE  CRISIS  157 

misery.  There  was  no  serving  two  masters  at  Valley 
Hall — you  either  sided  with  the  owners  or  the  slaves;  and 
once  your  choice  made,  you  went  all  the  way.  Allan  was 
bound  hand  and  foot — what  could  he  accomplish  by 
interceding  save  to  bring  them  punishment? 

It  was  only  the  love  he  bore  for  his  father  that  enabled 
him  to  endure  these  things  from  hour  to  hour.  Of  the 
future  he  dared  not  even  think.  It  seemed  as  if  every 
day  some  new  burden  was  flung  upon  his  shoulders — some 
new  fuel  was  added  to  the  fire  of  revolt  that  was  blazing 
in  his  soul.  Sometimes  he  would  have  to  rush  away  to 
master  himself;  and  there  were  hours  when,  shrink  from 
it  as  he  would,  he  caught  glimpses  of  the  crisis  that  was 
on  the  way.  His  powers  of  endurance  were  less  than  infi- 
nite— and  the  horror  about  him  was  not.  Yet  he  shut 
his  eyes  to  the  future,  hoping  against  hope,  and  when  the 
climax  came  it  caught  him  all  unaware. 

There  came  a  new  subject  of  conversation  at  the  Hall, 
taking  the  place  of  the  runaway :  a  speech  of  Charles 
Sumner's  in  the  Senate,  reported  in  the  Woodville  paper 
the  twentieth  of  May.  This  historic  oration,  "The  Crime 
against  Kansas,"  was  the  protest  of  a  passionate  lover  of 
justice  against  the  outrage  then  being  done  the  nation. 
At  the  moment  of  its  delivery  the  latest  news  from  the 
territory  was  of  the  closing  of  the  hosts  from  Missouri 
about  the  devoted  free-state  town;  and  burning  with  the 
wrath  of  the  prophets,  the  mighty  senator  hurled  his  de- 
nunciation of  the  deed  into  the  faces  of  its  doers.  It  was 
11  a  Crime  without  example  in  the  history  of  the  past — the 
rape  of  a  virgin  territory,  compelling  it  to  the  hateful  em- 
brace of  Slavery. ' '  He  denounced  the  invaders  of  Kansas : 
"Hirelings  picked  from  the  drunken  spew  and  vomit  of 
an  uneasy  civilization — leashed  together  by  secret  signs 
and  lodges,  renewing  the  incredible  atrocities  of  the  assas- 
sins and  the  thugs."  He  denounced  the  lawmakers  of 
Kansas — their  attempt  to  "fasten  and  rivet,  by  legislative 
bolt,  spike,  and  screw,  the  whole  usurpation  upon  the 
territory."  Fronting  the  authors  and  the  champions  of 


158  MANASSAS 

these  measures,  undaunted  by  their  furious  threats,  the 
senator  poured  out  his  scorn  upon  them.  Butler  and 
Douglas  he  pictured  as  Don  Quixote  and  Sancho  Panza. 
"The  senator  from  South  Carolina  has  read  many  books 
of  chivalry;  he  has  chosen  a  mistress  to  whom  he  makes 
his  vows,  and  who,  though  ugly  to  others,  is  always  lovely 
to  him — I  mean  the  harlot,  Slavery.  Let  her  be  im- 
peached in  character,  or  any  proposition  be  made  to  shut 
her  out  from  the  extension  of  her  wantonness,  and  no 
extravagance  of  manner  and  hardihood  of  assertion  is  too 
great  for  this  senator. ' '  Douglas  he  described  as  1 1  vindicat- 
ing his  labored  report" — "piling  one  mass  of  elaborate  error 
upon  another  mass — constraining  himself  to  unfamiliar 
decencies  of  speech."  His  victim  followed  him  with  the 
cry  of  rage — "Is  it  his  object  to  provoke  some  of  us  to 
kick  him  as  we  would  a  dog  in  the  street,  that  he  may  get 
sympathy  upon  the  just  chastisement?" 

The  sentiment  of  Valley  Hall  about  this  thing  was 
voiced — vigorously  if  not  coherently — by  Mason  of  Vir- 
ginia :  "  I  am  constrained  to  hear  depravity,  exhibiting  its 
loathsome  deformities  in  accusation  and  vilification  against 
the  quarter  of  the  country  from  which  I  come.  And  I 
must  listen  to  it  because  it  is  a  necessity  of  my  position, 
under  a  common  government,  to  recognize  as  an  equal 
politically  one  whom  to  see  elsewhere  is  to  shun  and  de- 
spise." That  was  the  thing  which  galled  them,  to  be 
bound  up  with  people  who  chose  such  a  man  to  represent 
them.  Might  one  not  just  as  well  have  been  fastened  in 
the  public  stocks  and  set  out  for  them  to  mock? — "Some- 
body ought  to  call  the  scoundel  out!"  'Dolph  had  cried. 

"He  wouldn't  fight— that's  just  the  trouble,"  Captain 
Montague  answered.  "There  would  be  dozens  of  chal- 
lenges if  he  would  accept  them." 

"But  is  a  man  to  get  the  privilege  of  pouring  insults 
upon  our  heads  merely  by  professing  to  despise  dueling? 
By  Heaven,  Uncle  Harry,  he  ought  to  be  shot  down  like  a 
mad  dog!" 

And  every  one  who  came  to  the  Hall  took  the  same  view 
of  it.  To  each  of  them  it  was  like  a  personal  affront — a 


THE  CRISIS  159 

blow  in  the  face.  Allan  felt  as  if  lie  were  living  above 
the  crater  of  a  volcano — the  very  air  was  sulphurous  with 
passion.  "We  shall  wait  until  the  fall,"  he  overheard  his 
father  saying.  "They  will  elect  a  Republican  President, 
and  that  will  be  the  end ! ' ' 

Such  was  the  programme ;  and  meanwhile  there  was  Kan- 
sas, the  new  State  which  might  yet  be  saved  to  the  South. 
Men  waited  hour  by  hour — one  might  almost  say  minute 
by  minute — for  the  final  news  from  the  territory;  and  a 
couple  of  days  later,  jubilant  and  breathless,  the  boys  came 
in  with  the  tidings.  Allan  had  been  in  the  library,  and 
hearing  them,  came  out  upon  the  portico  and  stood  listening. 

The  first  blow  of  civil  war  had  been  struck,  and  the 
hordes  of  Abolitiondom  were  scattered!  Seven  hundred 
and  fifty  heroes  from  Missouri  had  made  up  the  party,  with 
the  supposed-to-be-murdered  Sheriff  Jones  among  them; 
and  Lawrence,  cowed  at  last,  had  submitted  while  he  served 
his  warrants.  Afterward,  pandemonium  had  broken  loose 
—there  were  two  free-state  papers  in  the  town,  and  the 
grand-jury  of  the  territory  having  indicted  them  as  nui- 
sances, the  mob  wrecked  their  offices,  and  dumped  their 
presses  into  the  river.  Next  came  the  turn  of  the  great 
hotel,  the  stone  citadel  of  the  Emigrant  Aid  Company; 
a  few  score  of  cannon-balls  were  fired  at  it,  and  these  fail- 
ing, kegs  of  gunpowder  were  tried,  and  finally  the  place 
was  burned  to  the  ground.  The  house  of  Robinson,  the 
free-state  governor,  was  fired,  and  the  liquor  stores  plun- 
dered; and  so  at  last  the  victorious  army  marched  away 
again,  with  banners  flaunting  their  defiance  upon  the 
breeze — 

"Let  Yankees  tremble,  Abolitionists  fall; 
Our  motto  is,  give  Southern  rights  to  all ! J ' 

So  the  black  clouds  gathered,  and  the  thunder  muttered, 
and  the  air  grew  dark.  It  was  the  South  'a  first  taste  of 
victory  in  a  long  time;  and  the  young  men  who  came  to 
the  Hall  were  like  Iroquois  savages  dancing  about  a  scalp. 
Randolph  cursed  the  luck  that  had  kept  him  at  home  while 


160  MANASSAS 

such  things  were  doing.  "Do  you  think  it  will  be  the 
end,  Uncle  Harry?"  he  would  demand,  again  and  again; 
finding  it  difficult  to  credit  the  other's  assurance  that  it 
would  take  more  than  that  to  crush  the  hopes  of  Aboli- 
tiondom.  This  sack  of  Lawrence  had,  curiously  enough, 
taken  place  at  the  very  time  that  Sumner  was  delivering  his 
harangue  in  the  Senate ;  and  'Dolph  laughed  gleefully  that 
it  was  their  reply — little  guessing  what  else  was  in  store. 

The  news  came  that  same  eventful  afternoon — it  burst 
upon  them  like  a  thunder-clap  from  a  cloudless  sky. 
Randolph  himself  brought  it,  having  gone  to  town  to 
learn  what  more  he  could  about  Lawrence.  He  had  been 
gone  about  two  hours,  and  in  the  meantime  company  had 
come,  and  quite  a  party  was  seated  upon  the  veranda, 
where  the  tea-table  was  spread.  They  were  waiting  only 
for  him  and  for  Captain  Montague,  who  had  gone  driving 
with  his  favorite  trotter.  Everything  was  still  —  the 
very  hum  of  the  bees  seemed  hushed;  until  all  at  once 
Allan,  seated  at  one  side  reading,  rose  up,  thinking  he 
heard  the  sounds  of  hoof-beats.  They  were  plain  a  mo- 
ment later — some  one  was  coming  at  a  gallop.  A  few 
seconds  more  and  the  horseman  swept  suddenly  around 
the  turn  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

It  was  Randolph.  He  was  waving  his  hat  and  shout- 
ing, half  risen  in  his  stirrups.  He  was  so  far  away  they 
could  not  hear  him,  but  they  sprang  to  their  feet  and  stood 
staring,  while  he  came  on  like  a  whirlwind.  He  was 
nearer  now;  they  could  see  that  his  horse  was  white  and 
dripping — and  then  suddenly  they  heard  his  yell: — 

"Sumner,  Sumner!     They've  killed  Sumner!" 

A  thrill  like  a  pulse  of  electricity  seemed  to  shoot 
through  the  listeners;  they  stood  rooted  to  the  spot — not 
a  soul  moved  a  muscle.  Meantime  'Dolph  came  sweeping 
up  as  if  he  had  meant  to  gallop  straight  into  the  house- 
then  suddenly  reined  up  his  horse,  and  before  the  animal 
had  half  stopped,  flung  himself  from  it  and  dashed  to  the 
steps.  Never  did  Allan  forget  his  aspect  at  that  instant 
— the  momentum  of  his  coming  carried  him  to  the  top  in 
two  bounds,  and  he  halted  there  abruptly — stood  as  he 


THE  CRISIS  161 

was,  his  arms  flung  wide,  breathless,  crazy  with  excitement, 
his  eyes  on  fire,  his  whole  face  transfigured.  "Have  you 
heard  the  news?"  he  shouted;  and  when  they  answered 
him,  "No!"  he  cried  again,  "It's  Sumner — they've  killed 
him  in  the  Senate  ! ' ' 

There  could  be  no  mistake  about  the  words  now,  they 
had  heard  him  aright.  "What!"  yelled  a  dozen  voices. 

"I  say  they've  killed  him — or  almost!  Nobody  knows 
yet — but  they've  given  him  a  beating!" 

Mr.  Montague  sprang  toward  his  son  with  a  cry. 

"It's  true,  it's  true!"  'Dolph  rushed  on.  "Brooks 
of  South  Carolina — a  congressman — got  him  alone  in 
the  Senate-chamber  and  beat  him  with  a  cane — pounded 
his  head  all  to  a  jelly,  they  say!" 

"How  did  you  learn  it?" 

"I  stood  in  the  telegraph  office  while  the  news  was  read 
off.  It  is  a  fact — there 's  no  doubt  of  it !  He  had  a  gutta- 
percha  stick  an  inch  thick,  and  he  smashed  it  all  to  pieces 
over  his  head.  Sumner  tried  to  get  up — he  got  caught 
in  his  desk  somehow,  and  Brooks  beat  him  senseless.  They 
don 't  know  if  he 's  going  to  die  or  not ! ' ' 

And  suddenly  with  a  wild  yell  'Dolph 's  brother  leaped 
forward,  flinging  his  hat  into  the  air.  "Ha,  ha!"  he 
shouted,  "Ha,  ha!"  The  cry  seemed  to  let  loose  men's 
emotion,  and  they  laughed  and  shouted  and  sang.  Only 
the  women  were  silent,  frightened  and  horrified;  the  men 
seemed  to  lose  their  senses  —  graybeards  clasped  each 
other's  hands,  and  Ralph  threw  himself  into  his  brother's 
arms  and  the  two  fell  to  dancing — whooping  and  yell- 
ing, drunk  with  blood.  So  on — until  suddenly  there 
came  a  cry  which  stopped  them  in  a  flash — that  hushed 
every  sound,  and  made  the  company  stand  almost  par- 
alyzed with  consternation:  "Oh,  you  cowards!  You 
cowards!" 

They  turned.  They  saw  Allan,  standing  at  one  side, 
clutching  a  chair  for  support,  his  face  ghastly  pale.  They 
could  not  believe  their  ears  at  first;  but  they  heard  him 
again,  his  voice  hoarse  and  quivering  with  pain:  "Oh, 
you  cowards!  You  cowards!" 


162  MANASSAS 

For  a  moment  every  soul  of  them  was  dazed.  "What 
do  you  mean?"  gasped  some  one. 

Allan's  voice  rose  high  and  shrill:  "To  strike  a  man 
down  when  he  was  helpless,  when  he  was  unarmed !  And 
in  the  Senate  of  your  country,  and  he  a  senator!  And 
you  to  laugh  and  be  glad! — have  you  no  decency  left  in 
you?  Oh,  God,  it  is  too  horrible — it  is  too  horrible! 
Shame  upon  you,  shame!" 

And  he  stopped,  choking,  incoherent  with  his  agitation; 
there  was  an  instant  of  silence — and  then  from  near  the 
steps  a  low,  tense  voice,  "Jesus  Christ!" 

And  Allan  turned  to  see  his  cousin  Randolph  crouching 
like  a  tiger,  his  face  convulsed  with  fury.  An  instant 
more,  and  he  leaped  forward,  flinging  up  his  hand.  There 
was  a  knife  in  it,  and  it  flashed  in  the  sunlight. 

There  was  only  one  person  near  enough — Randolph's 
father.  He  bounded  forward,  throwing  out  his  arm  in 
front  of  his  son.  "Back!"  he  shouted.  "Back!  Stand 
back,  sir,  stand  where  you  are!  Are  you  mad?  What 
do  you  mean?" 

And  Randolph  halted  and  his  hand  fell  to  his  side.  He 
stood,  white  and  trembling,  his  fingers  twitching,  his  eyes 
glaring  like  a  wild  beast 's. 

There  was  half  a  minute  of  deathlike  silence.  Allan 
stood  motionless  as  a  statue — every  person  there  staring 
at  him,  breathless  with  wonder  and  horror.  Then  suddenly 
Mr.  Montague  lowered  his  arm,  breaking  the  spell.  "You 
will  go  to  your  room,  sir,"  he  said,  "and  wait  until  your 
father  comes." 

Allan  made  no  move,  but  continued  to  gaze  at  him. 

"I  know  what  this  means,  sir,"  his  uncle  went  on. 
"There  is  no  need  to  say  a  word  more.  We  shall  wait 
for  your  father — he  may  deal  with  you  as  he  chooses,  and  no 
one  here  has  anything  to  do  with  it.  But  you  are  a  traitor 
to  your  State,  sir,  a  traitor  to  your  country ;  and  God  help 
you,  for  it  will  be  the  death  of  him  when  he  hears  it — 
it  will  break  your  poor  old  father's  heart!  Now  go!" 

And  Allan,  half  mechanically,  turned  and  went  into  the 
house,  his  head  reeling.  It  had  come  at  last — it  had  come 
at  last ! 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  scene  upon  the  piazza  was  out  of  his  mind  the 
instant  it  was  out  of  his  sight.  What  were  his  troubles, 
what  was  he?  But  the  senator!  The  senator  struck 
down  by  a  cowardly  assassin,  weltering  in  his  blood  on  the 
floor  of  his  country's  forum!  Allan  had  seen  him  once  at 
college,  a  towering  figure,  six  feet  and  more  in  height,  with 
the  head  of  an  Apollo.  Champion  of  all  things  free  and 
noble  he  was — the  unconquerable  defender  of  every  out- 
raged soul;  and  now  to  be  beaten  into  insensibility  by  a 
ruthless  bully — oh,  God,  it  was  too  terrible  to  be  true! 
It  drove  Allan  wild  to  think  of  it — he  strode  up  and  down 
the  room,  kneading  his  hands  together;  he  sank  down 
upon  a  chair,  sobbing.  How  were  things  like  these  to  be 
borne?  How  dare  an  iniquity  so  hideous  to  show  its  face 
upon  God's  earth? 

This  was  their  latest,  these  slave  drivers,  it  was  the  last 
of  their  crimes!  What  was  Kansas  to  this — what  could 
have  deserved  like  this  the  description  of  Sumner  himself, 
"the  Crime  of  Crimes,  the  Crime  against  Nature,  at  which 
the  soul  revolts,  and  which  language  refuses  to  describe  "f 
The  exultation  of  the  people  which  he  had  just  witnessed 
rang  still  in  his  ears — seemed  to  him  like  the  jeering  of  a 
thousand  hateful  demons.  They  crowded  around  him — 
hustling  him — leering  at  him — goading  him,  spitting  into 
his  face ;  until  suddenly  he  leaped  to  his  feet  and  flung  up 
his  arms  into  the  air,  crying:  "No,  no!  I  cannot  bear  it! 
It  is  too  much;  it  is  too  horrible!  I  will  go  out  into  the 
world  and  fight  it !  Down  with  it,  I  say — down  with  it ! ' ' 

He  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  floor,  his  hands  clenched 
in  sudden  passion,  his  arms  grown  stiff,  his  soul  flaring 
white-hot  in  a  frenzy  of  revolt.  He  saw  the  monster 
rearing  its  head  before  him,  towering  above  him,  menac- 
ing; he  flung  himself  at  the  throat  of  it — this  Slavery! 

163 


164  MANASSAS 

Down  with  it !  Trample  it ! —  let  it  no  longer  dare  to  show 
itself  in  this  world!  Mountainous,  colossal  as  it  was, 
intrenched  and  unassailable,  graven  in  the  law  and  sanc- 
tioned by  the  centuries — yet  he  would  go  out  to  meet  it — 
he  pledged  his  soul  to  battle  with  it — either  he  or  it  must 
perish,  for  there  was  no  longer  room  for  both  of  them 
upon  earth!  He  would  travel  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  to 
raise  up  foes  against  it,  he  would  go  out  upon  the  high- 
ways and  denounce  it — and  they  should  hear  him,  they 
should  hear  him.  Such  an  emotion  Allan  had  never 
known  before — the  depths  of  his  being  were  upturned,  and 
mountain  billows  of  resolution  surged  through  his  soul. 
He  was  beside  himself — in  his  frenzy  he  wrought  with  the 
whole  nation.  No  longer  was  he  a  boy,  helpless  and  per- 
plexed; standing  there  with  his  clenched  hands  the  power 
of  the  ages  was  in  him — he  was  the  everlasting  soul  of 
man,  at  bay  and  made  desperate  by  oppression,  vowing  its 
defiance  to  wrong. 

He  saw  the  truth  then,  as  he  had  never  seen  it  before. 
No  longer  was  he  to  be  bound  by  other  duties — his  love  of 
home,  or  his  love  for  the  South.  It  was  the  South  herself 
who  cried  out  to  him  for  deliverance,  from  this  haglike 
spectre  which  rode  upon  her  back — this  Slavery!  What 
else  was  it  that  had  turned  these  fair  lands  into  a  wil- 
derness, that  had  beaten  down  this  noble  people,  blinded 
them,  and  made  them  like  ravening  beasts?  Let  the 
means  be  what  they  would — let  it  be  war  and  desolation, 
let  these  cities  be  razed,  these  fields  drenched  with  blood — 
even  that  he  would  face — so  only  that  this  horror  might  be 
ended,  and  the  spirit  of  the  South  set  free !  He  saw  her 
once  again,  as  he  had  seen  her  in  this  place — but  no  longer 
radiant,  no  longer  singing.  She  stretched  out  her  arms  to 
him,  her  aspect  wild,  her  eyes  full  of  weeping;  for  the 
star  of  her  hope  was  fallen,  and  the  pillars  of  her  house 
were  in  ruins,  and  madness  had  smitten  her  sons.  Who 
was  there  to  deliver  her — who  was  there  to  point  the  way? 
Was  he  the  first— the  first  of  her  children  to  find  it?  He 
would  not  be  the  last — he  vowed  it  as  he  knelt  there,  sunk 
down  upon  a  chair,  his  face  buried  in  his  arms,  and  his 


THE  CRISIS  165 

frame  shaken  with  his  sobbing.     He  would  not  be  the 
last — he  would  not  be  the  last! 

The  hours  passed  by;  it  grew  dark,  and  Allan  sat  in 
the  same  room,  motionless,  silent,  brooding.  It  was  late 
at  night  before  a  sound  came  to  disturb  him;  then  he 
heard  a  step  in  the  hall,  and  looking  up  saw  Ethel  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway. 

She  had  come  from  another  room,  and  the  light  streamed 
in  about  her  stately  figure,  shining  upon  her  glossy  black 
hair.  She  stood  motionless,  gazing  at  him;  and  with  a 
sudden  impulse  Allan  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Ethel !"  he  cried,  with  swift  intensity.  "  And  you  too !" 

He  noticed  that  the  girl  started.  "How  do  you 
mean?"  she  asked. 

"I  can't  believe  it  of  you!"  he  rushed  on  passionately. 
"I  can't  believe  it!  How  can  you — a  woman — bear  such 
a  thing?  How  could  you  stand  there  and  listen  to  them 
shouting  with  delight — have  you  no  mercy — no  heart  at 
all?  I  can  understand  the  men,  but  you — you!  Oh, 
Ethel!" 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Then  the  girl  said  in  a 
low  voice,  "I  have  not  come  to  talk  to  you  about  that, 
Allan."  And  she  came  quickly  toward  him. 

"It  is  something  more  terrible  than  that."  she  said 
swiftly.  "I  don't  know  how  you  are  to  bear  it,  Allan — 
we  are  afraid  something  has  happened  to  your  father." 

He  started  and  stared  at  her.  "What  do  you  mean?" 
he  cried. 

* '  There  has  been  a  runaway, ' '  said  the  girl.  ' l  The  horse 
has  come  home  with  the  buggy  all  smashed  to  pieces,  and 
he  not  in  it." 

Allan  felt  his  heart  give  a  throb;  he  caught  at  a  chair. 

"The  men  have  gone  to  hunt  for  him,"  the  girl  went 
on,  breathlessly.  "He  must  have  been  hurt,  but  we  do 
not  know  yet — " 

"How  long  ago  was  this?"    he  cried. 

"An  hour  ago." 

"And  why  have  you  not  told  me  before?" 


166  MANASSAS 

'   "We  did  not  know  where  you  were,  Allan — we  thought 
you  had  gone  out  of  the  house." 

There  was  a  silence.  He  put  his  hands  to  his  forehead, 
and  the  girl,  watching  him  with  frightened  face,  ran  toward 
him,  thinking  that  he  was  going  to  fall.  But  suddenly  he 
straightened  up.  "It  is  better  so,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"It  is  better  so." 

Ethel  halted,  and  stared  at  him.  "What  do  you  mean ? ' ' 
she  whispered. 

"I  mean  that  it  is  better  he  should  be  dead."  Allan 
answered. 

And  the  girl  sprang  back  in  horror,  exclaiming,  "Oh, 
Allan!" 

"Did  you  not  see  what  happened  this  afternoon?"  he 
cried,  wildly.  "Did  you  not  hear  your  father  say  that  it 
would  break  his  heart?  Why  should  he  live  to  face  such 
things?" 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"Allan,"  she  whispered  at  last,  faintly,  "we  had  agreed 
to  say  nothing  about  it  to  him." 

"Ah,  yes!"  he  exclaimed,  his  voice  choking.  "But 
you  forgot  me — I  could  not  agree  to  say  nothing." 

Again  there  was  a  silence.  "Allan!"  gasped  the  girl, 
suddenly,  "your  father  may  be  dead!" 

"Dead!"  he  cried.  "And  may  the  senator  not  be  dead? 
Is  not  that  slave  they  murdered  dead  ?  Are  they  not  dying 
by  hundreds  and  thousands — every  day — all  around  you? 
Dead — great  God,  what  is  there  for  any  one  to  do  but  to 
die?" 

She  was  staring  at  him,  motionless.  Then  suddenly 
came  a  sound  outside;  she  turned  with  a  low  cry,  and 
Allan  followed.  It  was  faint  moonlight,  and  as  they 
emerged  they  saw  several  horsemen  riding  toward  the 
house,  their  figures  looking  black  and  ghostly  as  they 
came,  slowly,  noiselessly,  in  the  sandy  driveway. 

Neither  Allan  nor  his  cousin  could  make  a  sound — they 
stood  transfixed  with  sudden  terror.  The  horsemen  rode 
up  and  halted,  stepped  from  their  horses — all  but  one. 
He  bore  a  heavy  burden  in  his  arms,  and  he  waited,  and 


THE  CRISIS  167 

gave  it  gently  to  one  of  the  others,  who  carried  it  to  the 
steps  and  staggered  up  with  it,  still  without  a  sound.  He 
laid  it  on  the  veranda,  the  form  of  a  man  wrapped  in  a 
cloak;  and  at  the  same  instant  Allan  sprang  forward  with 
aery,  "Father!" 

Not  a  soul  spoke;  he  bent  down  and  raised  the  cloak. 
The  face  shone  ashy  gray  in  the  moonlight;  he  touched 
it  —  it  was  cold.  And  he  staggered  back,  reeling ; 
then  he  sank  down,  sobbing  as  if  his  heart  would 
break.  The  others  stood  watching  him — and  still  making 
not  a  sound. 


CHAPTER  X 

ABOUT  ten  days  had  passed  since  Captain  Montague 
had  been  buried.  His  arm  had  been  caught  in  the  wheel 
of  his  carriage,  and  the  horse  had  kicked  him.  They 
would  not  let  Allan  look  at  him  a  second  time. 

It  had  not  proven  possible  for  the  young  man  to  retain 
the  high  mood  which  saw  his  father's  death  as  an  atom  in 
a  universal  tragedy.  His  battle  frenzy  was  gone  and  for- 
gotten, and  he  went  about  the  house  desolate,  numb  with 
grief.  Now  and  then  the  fearful  truth — that  he  was 
alone  in  the  world,  that  he  was  never  to  see  his  father, 
never  to  hear  his  voice  again — would  flash  upon  him  with 
overwhelming  force,  and  he  would  stand  still,  sick  with 
despair. 

He  had  lost  all  the  world  at  once.  His  relatives  tried 
to  make  it  easy  for  him,  but  he  had  committed  the  unfor- 
givable offence,  and  they  could  not  hide  the  truth — that 
he  no  longer  belonged  to  Valley  Hall,  that  he  had  no 
longer  a  part  in  their  life.  Poor  Mrs.  Montague  was  pros- 
trated and  under  the  doctor's  care,  and  he  did  not  see  her. 
Her  husband  was  courteous  and  grave  as  ever,  but  he  kept 
his  pain  to  himself,  and  for  Allan  he  had  only  politeness. 
The  boys  avoided  him  all  day,  and  spoke  to  him  only  in 
monosyllables  when  they  passed  him.  If  it  had  been  alone 
with  the  family  that  his  outbreak  had  occurred,  it  might 
have  been  different;  but  to  have  had  it  happen  while 
guests  were  present — to  have  all  the  neighborhood  dis- 
cussing the  fact  that  you  had  an  Abolitionist  in  your  house ! 

A  situation  so  painful  could  not  continue  for  very  long. 
Only  the  tense  and  immediate  strain  of  grief  made  it  pos- 
sible, and  as  soon  as  Allan  had  begun  to  see  it  clearly  and 
to  realize  it,  the  longing  seized  him  to  end  it,  to  get  away. 
All  that  he  had  to  bear  he  felt  that  he  could  bear  better 
if  only  he  could  be  alone. 

168 


THE  CRISIS  169 

And  so  he  waited  only  until  time  enough  had  elapsed 
for  his  haste  not  to  seem  indecent.  Then  he  found  Mr. 
Montague  one  morning  in  the  office,  and  went  in  and  asked 
to  speak  with  him.  And  when  the  other  assented — "I 
think,  Uncle  Hamilton,"  he  began,  "that  I  shall  return  to 
the  North/' 

"I  had  presumed  that  you  would,"  the  other  responded, 
quietly. 

Allan  hesitated  a  moment.  "There  is  something  that 
I  have  wished  to  speak  to  you  about  first,"  he  said. 

"What  is  it?"  his  uncle  inquired. 

"There  are  one  or  two  servants  here  whom  I  should 
like,  if  I  could,  to  arrange  to  take  to  the  North  with  me." 

Mr.  Montague  knit  his  brows.  "I  am  very  sorry,"  he 
answered  abruptly,  "but  it  is  impossible." 

Allan  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "Impossible!"  he 
exclaimed. 

"Absolutely,"  was  the  reply. 

The  other  hesitated.  "I  should  hate  for  there  to  be 
any  unpleasantness,  Uncle  Hamilton — "  he  began. 

"Have  no  fear,"  the  other  answered,  quietly;  "there 
will  be  none." 

"But  you  must  excuse  me,"  Allan  went  on,  "if  I 
remind  you  that  half  of  this  plantation  must  somehow 
belong  to  me." 

"It  will  belong  to  you,"  Mr.  Montague  replied,  "when 
you  come  of  age — or  rather  it  would  under  ordinary 
circumstances. ' ' 

Allan  looked  perplexed.  "The  circumstances  are  not 
ordinary  ?  "  he  asked. 

"By  the  terms  of  your  grandfather's  will,"  the  other 
answered,  "his  property  was  divided  equally  between  his 
two  sons.  But  when  your  father  went  to  live  in  Boston, 
we  concluded  an  agreement  by  which  the  plantation  was 
to  be  operated  for  our  mutual  benefit  for  a  period  of  five 
years,  I  managing  it  here  and  he  conducting  its  business 
in  Boston.  That  agreement  expired  last  year,  and  was 
renewed  for  the  period  of  six  years.  I  shall  be  glad  to 
show  you  the  papers." 


170  MANASSAS 

"Then,  if  I  understand  you,"  said  Allan,  ''I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it  at  all?" 

"You  are  entitled  to  half  of  its  income/'  said  Mr. 
Montague,  "and  that  you  will  receive.  I  am  your  legal 
guardian,  in  the  absence  of  any  instructions  from  your 
father,  and  I  might,  I  presume,  attempt  to  control  your  con- 
duct, and  might  certainly  control  your  income.  I  have  no 
desire  to  do  either,  however;  you  may  do  what  you  will." 

"I  thank  you,"  said  Allan,  in  a  low  voice.  There  was 
a  short  silence;  then  he  resumed,  "And  what  I  ask,  you 
could  not  grant  as  a  favor?" 

"I  should  grant  anything  that  I  could,"  replied  his 
uncle,  "without  injuring  the  plantation — without  injur- 
ing your  own  interests  as  well  as  my  own." 

"And  that  would  injure  them?" 

"It  assuredly  would.  Your  mere  presence  here  injures 
them — feeling  as  you  do,  and  the  servants  all  having 
learned  it,  as  they  have.  What  you  propose  would  injure 
not  only  Valley  Hall,  it  would  injure  the  whole  community, 
and  the  State." 

1 1  Explain  it  to  me, ' '  Allan  said. 

"You  would  intend  to  set  the  people  free,  would  you 
not?" 

"Yes,"  said  Allan. 

"And  what  do  you  suppose  would  be  the  effect  of  this 
upon  those  who  were  not  set  free?" 

There  was  a  pause;  then  suddenly  Mr.  Montague 
nodded  in  the  direction  of  the  window,  saying,  "Look 
there."  The  other  saw,  passing  by,  the  young  mulatto, 
the  cooper,  whom  he  had  so  often  watched  before. 

"There  goes  a  boy,"  said  the  other,  "whom  I  have  been 
three  years  in  breaking.  He  has  run  away  five  times, 
and  he  has  been  whipped  more  than  any  other  half-dozen 
negroes  on  this  place.  But  now  at  last  he  has  learned 
that  I  am  his  master,  and  that  I  rule,  and  he  does  his 
work,  and  says  nothing.  What  do  you  suppose  would 
be  his  thought  when  he  saw  some  of  his  companions 
taken  away  to  be  set  free?  What  do  you  suppose  would 
be  our  thought,  knowing  that  every  night  he  and  others 


THE  CRISIS  171 

were  thinking  about  it — that  they  were  sitting  in  their 
cabins  discussing  it,  instead  of  being  fast  asleep?" 

The  young  man  made  no  answer. 

"The  legislature  of  the  State  of  Mississippi,'7  Mr.  Mon- 
tague continued,  "has  seen  fit  to  prohibit  the  emancipation 
of  a  slave,  except  with  its  own  special  sanction,  and  for 
mentioned  causes;  and  what  do  you  suppose  is  the  reason 
for  that?  You  think  it  barbarous,  of  course;  but  we 
have  our  system  and  we  have  to  maintain  it.  We  do  not 
wish  to  have  our  servants  getting  ideas  about  freedom — 
we  do  not  wish  to  have  pernicious  free  negroes  about.  And 
my  position  as  the  guardian  of  this  plantation  is  precisely 
the  same  as  that  of  the  legislators  as  guardians  of  the  State. 
There  can  be  no  halfway  measures  with  Slavery — you 
either  mean  to  maintain  it  or  to  destroy  it.  You  are 
going  back  to  Boston,  and  you  can  afford  to  encourage 
negroes;  but  we  have  to  live  here  among  them,  and  I 
assure  you,  sir,  it  makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world. 
You  mark  me — if  those  people  that  you  meet  in  Massa- 
chusetts could  be  made  to  come  down  here  and  live  in 
Wilkinson  County,  where  there  are  three  negroes  for 
every  white  man,  they  would  be  turned  into  proslavery 
agitators  in  six  months.  You  were  born  a  Southerner, 
and  you  should  have  been  bred  one — I  warned  your 
father  what  he  was  doing  when  he  took  you  away.  If 
you  had  stayed  here  you  would  know  what  is  the  burden 
we  bear,  and  by  what  stern  necessity  we  do  what  we  do. 
We  mean  to  keep  this  a  civilized  country,  sir,  or  to  perish 
in  the  attempt.  We  have  been  a  century  teaching  the 
negro  that  we  are  masters,  and  that  when  we  speak  we 
mean  to  be  obeyed;  and  I  assure  you  we  do  not  intend 
that  he  shall  unlearn  his  lesson  now!" 

There  was  nothing  more  for  Allan  to  say — he  was  in 
no  mood  for  arguing,  and  he  waited  only  until  he  could 
do  so  without  rudeness,  and  then  he  rose  and  left.  How 
much  of  this  conversation  was  reported  to  the  family 
he  never  knew,  for  no  one  spoke  to  him  save  Uncle 
Ben. 

It  was  hard  for  old  Mr.  Handy  to  understand  that  a 


172  MANASSAS 

family  was  to  be  broken  up  by  a  disagreement  about 
politics.  It  was  Mr.  Handy 's  habit  to  regard  the  Slavery 
question  as  a  froth  stirred  up  by  the  politicians;  these 
fellows  were  struggling  for  power,  you  see,  and  trying 
their  best  to  outdo  each  other;  and  all  the  troubles  of  the 
time  were  due  to  the  fact  that  foolish  people  took  them 
seriously.  "Honestly,  Allan, "  he  pleaded,  "you  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  yourself!  Friends  are  too  scarce  in  this 
world,  my  boy,  to  be  flung  aside  for  such  reasons  as  that. ' ' 

Allan  kept  silence,  his  brows  knit. 

"And  a  family's  a  family,'7  the  other  went  on.  "Has 
the  old  home  no  claim  upon  you — has  the  State  no  claim 
upon  you?  You  ought  to  stand  by  your  own  people." 

"Even  if  they've  murdered  Sumner!"  Allan  broke  in. 

"Sumner?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Handy.  "What  have  you 
to  do  with  Sumner?  What's  he  to  you?" 

"He  was  a  senator,"  said  Allan. 

"He  was  an  ass,"  responded  Mr.  Handy.  "Understand 
me,"  he  went  on,  "I  am  not  defending  what  they  did — 
I'm  not  defending  any  of  the  crowd.  I  say  that  one  side 
is  just  as  much  to  blame  as  the  other — that  it's  just  such 
men  as  he  on  both  sides  that  make  all  the  trouble.  He 
knows  that  there  are  violent  men  there  who  won't  stand 
abuse;  and  yet  he  gets  up  there  with  a  filthy  speech  he's 
learned  by  heart,  and  flings  it  into  their  faces.  As  God's 
my  witness,  Allan,  it  was  all  without  a  thought  in  the  world 
but  to  show  what  a  smart  fellow  he  was  and  what  a  fine 
speech  he  could  make!  Why,  he  had  every  gesture  of  it 
rehearsed  beforehand — they  say  he  practises  his  speeches 
before  a  looking-glass  with  a  little  nigger  on  each  side  to 
hold  a  candle." 

Mr.  Handy  pleaded  long  and  sadly,  but  his  arguments 
were  of  no  avail.  Allan,  whose  mind  was  made  up, 
chafed  with  impatience  at  every  hour's  delay,  and  the 
same  night  after  his  talk  with  Mr.  Montague  he  made  his 
preparations.  In  the  morning  the  carriage  came  for 
him,  and  he  bade  farewell  for  the  second  time  to  Valley 
Hall. 


THE  CRISIS  173 

Painful  was  the  contrast  with  his  earlier  parting — the 
memory  of  it  brought  bitter  tears  into  his  eyes.  Then 
the  whole  county  had  turned  out  to  see  him  off;  now 
Randolph  had  ridden  away  beforehand  so  as  to  avoid  him, 
and  Hamilton  Montague  bade  him  good-by  without  even 
holding  out  his  hand.  Only  Mr.  Handy  and  Mrs.  Mon- 
tague spoke  to  him  kindly — Ethel  stood  by  without  a 
word,  and  when  she  gave  him  her  hand  it  was  lifeless  and 
cold.  So  the  carriage  bore  him  off,  hurt  and  wretched. 
The  world  stretched  out  before  him,  desolate  and  lonely — 
there  was  no  longer  any  home  in  it  for  him,  nor  any  friends 
to  whom  he  belonged. 

Taylor  Tibbs  was  driving — the  family  evidently  not 
having  suspected  his  treason.  When  they  had  reached 
Clarke's  Landing,  and  the  steamer  had  come  into  view,  the 
poor  fellow  seized  Allan's  hand  and  wrung  it,  sobbing  like 
a  child.  " Never  mind,  Marse  Allan!"  he  cried.  "We 
never  forgit  yo' — dey  is  folks  on  de  old  plantation  loves 
yo'  yet!" 

"I  will  be  back,  Tibbs,"  Allan  answered,  his  voice  chok- 
ing. "Nothing  shall  prevent  me,  I  promise  you.  In  five 
years  I  shall  be  my  own  master — and  I  will  buy  every 
slave  on  the  place,  Tibbs,  and  set  them  free,  if  it  takes  all 
that  I  own  in  the  world.  Tell  them  that — tell  them  to 
be  patient,  and  not  to  fear." 

"I  tell  'em!  I  tell  'em,  Marse  Allan!"  cried  Tibbs, 
clinging  frantically  to  his  hand.  "Good-by,  Marse 
Allan!  God  bless  yo',  Marse  Allan — good-by!" 

And  so  the  young  man  went  away.  His  last  memory 
of  home  was  the  solitary  figure  of  the  little  yellow  man 
standing  on  the  dock  and  waving  his  hat,  while  the 
steamer  swept  round  a  bend  in  the  river 


12 


CHAPTER  XI 

THEY  talked  politics,  more  eagerly  than  ever,  upon  the 
boat.  In  Congress,  and  all  over  the  country,  men  were 
still  discussing  the  Sumner  outrage — the  North  in  furi- 
ous indignation,  the  South  in  exulting  triumph.  The 
senator  was  not  dead,  it  transpired — only  crippled  for  life. 
Mr.  Toombs  and  Mr.  Davis  had  expressed  their  approval 
of  the  assault — and  public  meetings  in  the  South  were  pre- 
senting Brooks  with  canes  bearing  devices  such  as,  "Use 
knockdown  arguments!"  and  "Hit  him  again!" 

In  "bleeding  Kansas"  the  sacking  of  the  town  of 
Lawrence  had  been  the  signal  for  the  outbreak  of  civil 
war.  One  John  Brown,  an  antislavery  leader,  had  made 
a  midnight  raid  with  a  band  of  followers  upon  a  settlement 
on  "Pottawatomie  Creek,"  and  taking  five  proslavery 
settlers  from  their  beds,  had  "executed"  them,  as  he 
termed  it,  by  hacking  them  to  pieces  with  an  old  army 
cutlass.  The  Missourians  were  now  on  the  war-path, 
seeking  vengeance  for  this  deed,  and  guerilla  bands  were 
roaming  over  the  territory.  When  Allan's  steamer  reached 
Cairo,  the  news  came  that  the  proslavery  men  had  de- 
clared a  blockade  of  the  Missouri  River,  and  that  persons 
bound  for  Kansas  who  were  deemed  suspicious  were  sent 
floating  down  again  tied  to  logs. 

Allan  turned  his  back  upon  these  things — he  was  going 
home  to  Boston.  He  asked  himself  what  after  that,  but  he 
did  not  know — he  only  wanted  to  be  alone.  He  reached 
Cincinnati  early  the  following  morning,  and  would  have 
taken  a  train  for  the  East,  stopping  only  for  breakfast,  had 
not  something  occurred  to  delay  him. 

As  the  steamer  was  approaching  the  city,  he  noticed 
up  the  river  another  boat,  belonging  apparently  to  the 
same  line,  coming  from  the  opposite  direction,  under  the 

174 


THE  CRISIS  175 

tow  of  two  tugs.  "Something  out  of  order,''  he  heard  a 
man  near  him  say,  and  he  stood  watching  the  vessel.  As 
they  turned  in  toward  their  dock,  the  other  did  likewise, 
and  the  two  landed  about  the  same  time.  From  the  pas- 
sengers who  poured  off,  Allan  learned  that  the  boat's 
machinery  had  broken  down. 

When  he  was  engaging  a  carriage,  he  noticed  coming 
from  this  disabled  steamer  a  gentleman  and  lady  accom- 
panied by  a  young  colored  woman  with  a  baby  in  her 
arms.  They  engaged  the  carriage  next  to  his,  and  he  saw 
them  again  as  he  entered  the  hotel.  They  sat  at  the  same 
table  with  him — and  Allan  noticed  that  the  gentleman  was 
placed  where  he  could  keep  his  eye  upon  the  colored 
woman,  who  sat  in  the  corridor  outside.  He  watched  her 
closely,  and  the  reason  for  it  was  not  slow  in  occurring  to 
Allan — that  the  woman  must  be  his  slave.  In  the  States 
bordering  on  the  Ohio  it  was  generally  provided  that  pas- 
sengers might  carry  slaves  upon  river  steamboats  which 
stopped  at  free-state  ports;  but  if  the  owner  stopped  over 
with  a  slave,  it  was  at  his  own  risk — at  least  that  was  gen- 
erally the  case  in  late  years,  since  the  North  had  become 
wrought  up  on  the  Slavery  question. 

They  were  almost  through  with  breakfast  when  Allan, 
who  could  also  see  the  woman,  was  startled  to  notice  a 
man  talking  to  her.  His  back  was  toward  him,  and  Allan 
could  not  tell  what  he  looked  like.  The  master  chanced 
to  be  speaking  to  his  wife,  and  for  perhaps  half  a  minute 
he  did  not  notice  what  was  going  on;  then  suddenly,  as 
he  turned,  he  leaped  from  his  seat  with  an  exclamation, 
and  ran  toward  the  door. 

The  people  in  the  room  stared  at  him ;  then,  hearing  his 
voice  raised,  several  of  them  rose  and  followed  him.  The 
lady,  flushed  with  agitation,  did  the  same,  and  Allan,  who 
had  about  finished,  went  out  also.  "Now  that's  quite 
enough!"  he  was  in  time  to  hear  the  Southerner  exclaim- 
ing. "I  allow  no  one  to  talk  with  this  woman!" 

He  was  confronting  angrily  the  other  man,  a  tall,  elderly 
gentleman,  clad  in  the  sober  garb  of  a  Quaker.  Allan 
took  one  glance  at  him  and  gave  a  start.  He  recognized 


176  MANASSAS 

him  instantly — it  was  none  other  than  his  first  Aboli- 
tionist acquaintance,  the  "President  of  the  Underground 
Railroad/'— Mr.  Levi  Coffin! 

He  held  his  head  very  high,  gazing  straight  into  the 
other's  eyes.  "I  do  not  know,"  he  said,  quietly,  "who 
gave  thee  the  right  to  forbid  me  to  speak  to  whom  I 
please. " 

"I'll  show  you  about  right!"  cried  the  other,  passion- 
ately. "This  woman  is  my  servant,  and  I  will  not  have 
her  interfered  with." 

"As  to  that,"  said  Mr.  Coffin,  "  'tis  for  the  woman  to  say 
— not  for  thee.  If  I  understand  her  rightly,  thee  claims 
this  woman  as  thy  slave ;  I  was  telling  her  that  she  is  free, 
and  that  she  has  a  right  to  leave  thee  if  she  wishes.  And 
I  assure  thee,  sir,  that  if  she  does  wish,  no  command  of 
thine  will  be  of  the  least  effect." 

"By  God!"  cried  the  man,  clenching  his  hands;  Allan 
thought  for  a  second  he  was  going  to  strike  the  old  gen- 
tleman. But  people  were  running  toward  them  from  every 
direction,  drawn  by  the  excited  colloquy,  and  this  perhaps 
exercised  a  restraining  influence. 

The  Quaker  turned  suddenly  to  the  negress.  "I  tell 
thee,"  he  said,  "that  thy  master  has  no  longer  any  right 
to  thee;  the  law—" 

"Maria!"  shouted  the  other,  springing  between  them, 
"I  forbid  you  to  listen  to  this  man!  Stand  up!" 

The  poor  colored  woman  had  sat  staring  from  one  to 
the  other,  evidently  helpless  with  fright;  she  looked  half 
dazed,  and  the  child  in  her  arms  was  crying  violently. 
<"  Stand  up!"  cried  her  master  again,  and  she  rose  me- 
chanically. 

He  grasped  her  tightly  by  the  arm.  "Come!"  he  said, 
and  they  started  to  the  door,  pushing  roughly  through  the 
crowd  which  now  filled  the  corridors. 

Mr.  Coffin,  left  behind  for  a  moment,  bent  over  and 
whispered  hastily  to  one  of  the  waiters,  whom  he  had 
beckoned  to  him.  Allan  saw  him  slip  some  money  into 
his  hand,  and  the  man  ran  out  of  the  door.  Mr.  Coffin 
then  sprang  forward  again  to  the  side  of  the  colored  woman. 


THE  CRISIS  177 

" Listen  to  what  I  tell  thee!"  he  said  to  her.  "I  will 
help  thee  if  thee  will  only  let  me.  Thee  said  thee  wanted 
to  be  free.  Thee  can  be  free  if  thee  chooses.  This  man  has 
no  right  to  make  thee  go  a  step — if  thee  refuses — " 

11  Stand  back,  sir!"  shouted  the  other,  cursing  wildly. 
" Stand  back,  I  say!" 

"If  thee  refuses,  he  cannot  make  thee — thee  has  only 
to  stand  still,  to  speak  boldly.  It  is  thy  one  chance,  for 
he  will  carry  thee  away  again — if  he  gets  thee  on  board 
the  steamer,  I  cannot  help  thee.  Speak  up — before  it  is 
too  late!" 

The  woman  was  staring  into  his  face,  wild  with  alarm. 
She  began  to  drag  upon  her  master.  "I  doan'  want  to 
go — "  she  began,  but  the  other  shook  her  furiously,  cry- 
ing, "Be  still!" 

They  had  come  to  the  door  of  the  hotel.  In  front  Allan 
saw  a  carriage  standing — the  one  in  which  the  master  had 
come.  He  was  striding  toward  it,  when  suddenly  around 
the  corner  dashed  the  waiter,  a  policeman  at  his  heels. 

Mr.  Coffin  sprang  toward  the  latter.  "Officer!"  he 
cried,  "this  man  is  trying  to  kidnap  this  woman!  I  de- 
mand that  thee  stop  him." 

The  Southerner  halted. 

"What's  that?"  demanded  the  policeman.  "What's 
the  matter  here?" 

"This  woman  is  my  servant,"  said  the  other,  indig- 
nantly. "This  fellow  has  been  trying  to  entice  her  away 
from  me.  She  goes  of  her  own  accord." 

And  he  started  again;  he  still  gripped  the  woman  by 
the  arm,  and  she  went  with  him  mechanically,  confused 
by  the  loud  voices,  the  contradictory  commands,  and  the 
screaming  of  the  baby  in  her  arms.  They  were  within 
ten  feet  of  the  carriage,  when  Mr.  Coffin  sprang  in  front 
of  them  again. 

"Officer!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  say  I  demand  that  thee 
stop  this  outrage !  Will  thee  stand  by  and  allow  this  man 
to  force  this  woman  away?" 

' 1 1  can 't  help  it,  sir, ' '  said  the  officer.  ' '  I  have  nothing 
to  do  with  it  if  she  chooses  to  go." 


178  MANASSAS 

"Chooses!"  cried  the  other.  "Don't  thee  see  that  the 
man  has  frightened  her  to  death?  She  is  simply  too  con- 
fused— she  doesn't  realize  what  she  is  doing." 

"I  can't  help  it,  sir,"  declared  the  policeman  again,  "if 
she  doesn't  ask  it  herself.  I  have  no  power  to  interfere 
— it  rests  with  her  to  say." 

"Well,  ask  her,  then— ask  her!"  cried  Mr.  Coffin. 
"Tell  her  that  thee  is  an  officer  of  the  law,  and  that  she 
does  not  have  to  go  unless  she  wishes.  The  man  is  taking 
advantage  of  her  ignorance  and  her  helplessness — she  does 
not  know  what  are  her  rights!" 

The  policeman  stood  for  a  moment,  uncertain  and  per- 
plexed. "See  here,  sir,"  he  ventured,  addressing  the 
Southerner,  who  had  started  forward  again;  but  the 
latter  pushed  past  him  resolutely.  "This  woman  is  my 
servant,"  he  cried.  "I  have  a  right  to  take  her,  and  it  is 
nobody's  business  but  her  own!" 

He  was  in  front  of  the  carriage;  he  pushed  Mr.  Coffin 
roughly  aside — for  a  moment  it  looked  to  Allan,  who 
was  just  behind  them,  as  if  there  were  going  to  be  blows. 
The  Quaker  gave  way,  however,  and  the  other  placed  his 
foot  upon  the  step  of  the  carriage. 

"Step  in,"  he  commanded  sternly  to  the  negress,  and 
Allan  thought  that  he  had  won.  At  the  same  instant, 
however,  the  carriage  began  suddenly  to  back,  and  its 
horses  to  rear  and  plunge:  "Look  out  there!"  he  heard 
its  driver  shout.  "Look  out  there,  you  fool!"  Turning 
he  saw  that  another  carriage,  drawing  up  at  the  curb  and 
coming  from  the  opposite  direction,  was  crowding  the 
first  one  back. 

At  the  same  moment  the  waiter,  breathless,  pushed  his 
way  through  the  throng  of  people,  and  touched  Mr.  Coffin 
on  the  arm.  "Here  it  is,  sir!"  he  panted.  And  Mr. 
Coffin  sprang  suddenly  forward  and  put  his  hand  upon  the 
shoulder  of  the  colored  woman. 

"Maria!"  he  cried  swiftly,  "listen  to  me!  Thee  told 
me  thee  wanted  to  be  free.  Now  don't  let  any  one  frighten 
thee,  thee  can  choose  for  thyself,  and  no  one  can  interfere 
— if  thee  wants  to  be  a  free  woman,  step  into  this  carriage!" 


THE  CRISIS  179 

The  negress  had  turned  and  was  staring,  with  wild 
eyes.  ' '  Step  into  this  carriage ! ' '  Mr.  Coffin  cried  again ; 
and  with  a  sudden  burst  of  energy  she  tore  her  arm  free 
from  her  master  and  sprang  toward  him. 

"Ill  go !"  she  panted. 

The  Southerner  bounded  after  her  with  a  furious  oath ; 
he  caught  her  by  the  arm  with  a  grip  that  made  her 
scream.  "Come  back  here!"  he  cried — and  like  a  flash 
Mr.  Coffin  turned,  pointing  a  trembling  finger  at  the 
policeman. 

"Officer!"  he  cried,  "thee  has  heard  this  woman 
speak.  Make  this  man  stand  back — thee  will  fail  at  thy 
peril!  Thee  knows  who  I  am,  I  think!" 

The  policeman  stepped  in  front  of  the  master.  "This 
won't  do,  sir,"  he  said — "you  can't  stop  that  woman." 

"By  God!"  cried  the  man,  "but  I  will  stop  her.  I  tell 
you  she 's  my  slave,  and  she  shan  't  get  away  from  me ! " 

"Your  slave?"  asked  the  policeman.  "Is  she  a  run- 
away ? ' ' 

"The  woman  is  not  a  runaway!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Coffin, 
swiftly.  "He  brought  her  here  of  his  own  will." 

"I  was  on  the  River  Queen/'  put  in  the  master. 
"The  vessel  broke  down,  and  I  had  no  choice  but  to 
land." 

"You'll  have  to  take  your  hand  off  her,  sir,"  said  the 
policeman.  "I  am  sorry,  but  you  cannot  take  her  by 
force." 

And  the  Southerner  turned  with  an  oath  of  rage.  At 
the  same  instant  Mr.  Coffin  whispered  swiftly,  "Step 
in ! ' ' — and  the  woman  tore  her  arm  free  and  sprang  away 
again.  With  two  bounds  she  was  in  the  carriage,  and 
the  old  gentleman  had  sprung  after  her.  He  slammed 
the  door,  and  the  driver  lashed  his  horses,  and  in  a 
flash  the  carriage  was  whirling  down  the  street. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  sympathies  of  the  witnesses  of  this  scene  had  all 
been  with  the  rescuer.  There  was  a  cry  of  delight  at  the 
issue  of  it,  while  the  baffled  slave  owner  swore  like  a 
trooper.  He  shook  his  fist  in  the  face  of  the  policeman, 
threatening  him  with  dire  consequences;  but  the  other 
only  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said,  "You  will  find  that 
it  is  the  law,  sir." 

The  master  expressed  his  opinion  of  the  law  in  vigorous 
terms;  the  crowd  chaffed  him  so,  however,  that  in  the  end 
he  was  glad  to  escape  into  the  hotel — the  carriage,  mean- 
time, having  disappeared  round  a  corner. 

That  adventure  had  put  Allan  in  good  spirits.  He 
went  back  and  changed  the  order  for  his  baggage,  and 
then,  chuckling  to  himself,  set  out  down  the  street.  He 
had  not  forgotten  Mr.  Coffin's  invitation  to  visit  him  if  he 
were  ever  in  Cincinnati.  What  he  had  seen  had  suddenly 
suggested  to  him  that  he  would  accept  it. 

He  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  out  where  Levi  Coffin 
lived — in  a  big  house  on  the  corner  of  Franklin  Street 
and  Broadway.  He  was  just  about  to  ascend  the  steps 
when  he  was  surprised  to  see  the  old  gentleman  himself 
turning  the  corner — his  face  still  flushed  with  excitement. 

Allan  went  up  to  him,  smiling,  and  held  out  his  hand, 
bidding  him  good  afternoon.  Seeing  him  perplexed, 
he  added  with  a  laugh — "You  don't  remember  me?" 

"I  am  glad  to  see  thee,  friend,"  said  Mr.  Coffin;  "but  I 
must  confess  thee  is  right." 

"You  once  gave  me  a  bowie-knife,"  said  Allan. 

The  look  on.  the  Quaker's  face  showed  bewilderment. 
"No,"  he  said,  "thee  has  made  a  mistake  in  the  man." 

"Impossible,"  Allan  answered.  "Don't  you  know? 
It  was  to  kill  an  Abolitionist  with." 

180 


THE  CRISIS  181 

And  a  sudden  light  flashed  over  Mr.  Coffin's  counte- 
nance; he  stretched  out  both  his  hands.  "My  boy," 
he  cried,  "who  would  have  believed  it!  Where  in  the 
world  has  thee  come  from?" 

i '  All  the  way  from  Mississippi, ' '  Allan  answered.  * l  And 
I  have  turned  Abolitionist ! ' ' 

"No!"  cried  Mr.  Coffin,  opening  hisi  eyes;  then  he 
added  eagerly,  ' '  Come  in,  and  tell  me  about  it. ' ' 

They  turned  toward  the  house.  "What  became  of  the 
woman?"  Allan  asked. 

"Woman?     What  woman?" 

"The  one  you  captured  just  now." 

"What!"  cried  the  other.  "How  did  thee  hear  of 
that?" 

"I  was  within  ten  feet  of  you  all  the  time." 

"Thee  does  not  mean  it!"  Mr.  Coffin  exclaimed. 

"But  I  was!    You  were  too  busy  to  see  me." 

"It  was  a  busy  moment,"  said  he,  laughing.  "I  was 
afraid  that  I  was  going  to  fail." 

"What  have  you  done  with  her?"  asked  Allan. 

"Bought  her  a  ticket,  and  put  her  on  the  train,"  was 
the  reply. 

"The  train?" 

"On  the  Underground  Railroad.  Since  thee  is  an 
Abolitionist,  it  is  safe  to  tell  thee." 

Allan  laughed.  They  entered  the  house,  and  Mr.  Coffin 
called  "Catherine!"  and  the  dearest  old  lady  with  the 
primmest  of  Quaker  dresses  and  with  the  face  of  an  angel 
came  out.  She  had  heard  the  story  long  ago,  and  so  she 
and  Allan  were  friends  in  a  moment.  "Aunt  Katy,"  as 
every  one  called  her,  listened  in  mingled  alarm  and  delight 
while  they  told  of  the  late  adventure,  and  while  Allan 
pictured  the  look  upon  the  face  of  Maria's  master  as  the 
carriage  disappeared. 

"Poor  woman!"  said  Mr.  Coffin.  "He  had  sold  one 
of  her  children  only  last  month.  He  was  on  his  way  to 
New  Orleans,  and  she  was  afraid  that  he  might  sell  her. 
She  was  frightened  almost  speechless,  and  I  had  little  time 
to  question  her — I  wanted  to  get  her  out  of  the  way,  for 


182  MANASSAS 

I  was  afraid  the  man  might  be  after  me  with  some  sort  of 
a  process." 

"Do  you  have  such  adventures  often?"  Allan  asked. 

"I  have  had  that  sort  twice  before,"  was  the  reply. 
"Once  there  was  a  steamboat-captain  who  tried  to  hold  a 
woman  he  believed  to  be  a  fugitive;  he  had  no  evidence, 
and  I  stopped  him  with  a  warrant  just  as  he  was  starting 
to  take  her  across  the  river  in  a  skiff.  But  adventures! 
Thee  should  have  been  here  last  night — we  passed  eleven 
fugitives  who  had  crossed  the  river  on  a  ferry-boat  in  broad 
daylight,  hidden  in  a  load  of  hay!  Two  weeks  ago  we 
had  seven  who  had  had  a  fight  and  driven  back  their  pur- 
suers and  gotten  across." 

So  Mr.  Coffin  went  on  telling  stories.  He  was  a  merry 
old  gentleman — his  eyes  twinkled,  and  the  muscles  of  his 
long  Yankee  face  twitched  as  he  told  how  he  had  gone 
into  a  merchant's  office  to  ask  help  for  a  needy  fugitive, 
and  meeting  there  some  Southerners  furiously  denouncing 
Abolitionists,  had  induced  each  of  them  to  contribute  to 
the  help  of  the  ' '  poor  and  worthy  person ' '  in  whom  he  was 
interested. 

But  then  suddenly  he  stopped.  "I  have  forgotten  to 
ask  about  thee,  Allan,"  he  exclaimed.  "Thee  has  grown 
up  to  be  a  man.  Where  has  thee  been  all  these  years?" 

"In  Boston  most  of  the  time,"  Allan  answered — "at 
Harvard.  I  went  South  a  month  or  two  ago." 

"Thee  is  in  mourning,"  said  the  other. 

"My  father  died  two  weeks  ago,"  he  replied. 

Mr.  Coffin  became  grave.  "Ah!"  he  said,  "and  I  have 
been  telling  thee  jests." 

Allan  told  the  long  story  of  what  had  happened  to  him 
since  he  had  returned  to  Valley  Hall.  The  runaway, 
"Dutch  Joe,"  having  been  kidnapped  from  Cincinnati, 
he  thought  Mr.  Coffin  might  have  known  of  him;  but  this 
proved  not  to  be  the  case.  Afterward  Allan  told  how 
the  news  of  Sumner's  fate  had  brought  about  the  crisis. 

"Thee  says  thy  home  is  near  Woodville,"  remarked 
Mr.  Coffin,  later  on.  "I  was  in  that  town,  I  remember, 
five  years  ago.  I  recollect  an  argument  I  had  with  some 


THE  CRISIS  183 

merchants  in  the  hotel  concerning  this  very  thing — I 
mean  the  ferocity  of  manners  which  Slavery  engenders. 
It  was  very  queer/' 

Allan  had  opened  his  eyes.  "I  can't  just  imagine  any 
one  discussing  such  a  subject  in  Woodville,"  he  said. 

"It  is  always  my  habit  to  say  what  I  think,"  Mr. 
Coffin  answered — "no  matter  where  I  am.  I  have  never 
found  Southerners  unwilling  to  discuss  the  question  of 
Slavery  with  me.  They  get  excited,  of  course,  but  they 
know  that  I  am  a  man  of  peace,  and  I  always  manage  to 
win  them  over.  I  recollect  that  in  Woodville  there  was 
a  man  who  became  very  angry — he  had  read  my  card — 
*  Dealer  in  free-labor  cotton-goods  and  groceries' — and 
had  asked  me  to  explain  what  that  meant.  After  we  had 
had  a  long  discussion,  he  said,  *  They  tell  me  that  if  fugitive 
slaves  reach  Ohio,  the  Abolitionists  harbor  them  and  help 
them  on  their  way  to  Canada.'  I  answered  that  we  had 
all  sorts  of  people  in  Ohio.  I  told  him  a  story  I  had  just 
heard  before  I  left  home.  A  fugitive  slave  escaped  from 
his  master  and  made  his  way  through  the  state.  He  gen- 
erally traveled  at  night,  and  lay  concealed  during  the 
day,  but  when  near  the  northern  boundary  of  the  state, 
he  concluded  that  it  would  be  safe  to  travel  in  the  day, 
not  knowing  that  his  master  was  on  his  trail  and  close  be- 
hind him.  That  day  his  master  had  heard  several  times 
that  his  slave  was  a  short  distance  ahead.  The  fugitive 
stopped  at  a  house  near  the  road  to  beg  for  something  to 
eat.  It  happened  that  the  people  were  good  folks,  who 
thought  it  right  to  feed  the  hungry,  and  invited  him  in. 
The  lady  of  the  house  began  to  prepare  some  food,  and 
her  husband  went  out  to  chop  some  stove  wood.  While 
he  was  at  the  woodpile,  the  slave's  master  rode  up,  and 
inquired  if  he  had  seen  a  negro  pass  along  the  road  that 
day. 

"The  man  quit  chopping  and  asked.  'What  kind  of  a 
looking  fellow  is  the  negro  you  are  after?'  When  the 
master  had  given  a  full  description  of  his  slave,  the  man 
said,  'Yes,  I  saw  just  such  a  negro  pass  along  here 
to-day. ' 


184  MANASSAS 

"The  master  brightened  up  and  said:  'That  is  my 
slave.  What  time  of  day  was  it  when  he  passed?  How 
long  ago  did  you  see  him?7 

1(1  'It  has  not  been  more  than  an  hour;  he  can't  be  far 
ahead. ' 

"  'Did  you  speak  to  him?' 

"  'Yes.  I  talked  to  him  for  some  time.' 

"  'What  did  he  tell  you?' 

"  'Well — he  told  me  a  good  deal  about  himself.' 

"  'Now,  sir,'  said  the  master,  'I  wish  you  would  tell  me 
all  you  know  about  him.  He  is  my  property  and  I  intend 
to  capture  him  at  any  cost.  I  will  pay  you  fifty  dollars 
if  you  will  aid  me  to  get  hold  of  him.' 

"The  man  deliberated  for  some  time,  then  said:  'I 
don't  know  that  that  would  be  just  right,  but  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  will  do.  I'll  go  and  counsel  with  Deacon  Jones, 
who  lives  at  that  next  house,  about  a  hundred  yards  off, 
and  if  he  says  it  is  right,  I  '11  tell  you  all  I  know  about  your 
slave. ' 

"He  then  dropped  his  axe  and  started  to  see  Deacon 
Jones.  The  master  rode  by  his  side  and  stopped  at  the 
deacon's  gate,  while  his  companion  went  into  the  house. 
The  man  stayed  so  long  counselling  with  the  deacon  that 
the  master  grew  impatient,  and  when  at  last  the  man  came 
out  he  asked  him,  hurriedly,  'What  did  the  deacon  say?' 

"The  man,  however,  was  in  no  haste.  He  scratched 
his  head  and  hesitated  awhile,  then  replied: — 

"  'He  said  he  did  not  think  it  would  be  any  harm  to 
tell  you  all  I  know  about  your  slave.' 

"The  master  asked,  more  impatiently  than  before: 
'Well,  what  do  you  know  about  him?  Can  you  tell  me 
where  is  he  now  ? ' 

"The  man  replied,  'I  don't  know  exactly  where  he  is 
now,  but  when  you  were  talking  to  me  at  the  woodpile  he 
was  in  my  house.' 

"They  returned  together  to  the  house,  the  master  in 
no  very  good  humor.  The  man  asked  his  wife  about  the 
negro,  and  she  replied :  '  He  has  been  gone  more  than  half 
an  hour.  When  he  saw  his  master  ride  up,  he  slipped 


THE  CRISIS  185 

out  the  back  door,  and  hid  in  the  bushes,  and  when  you 
were  at  Deacon  Jones's,  I  saw  him  running  like  a  turkey 
right  toward  Canada.  You  can't  catch  that  fellow!'  ' 

When  Allan  had  stopped  laughing  over  this  story,  and 
at  the  idea  of  its  having  been  listened  to  in  Woodville, 
Mr.  Coffin  remarked:  "Thee  must  stay  to  dinner  with 
us.  I  will  introduce  thee  to  a  young  man  whom  I  expect 
to  see  shortly, — an  extraordinary  person.  Since  thee  is 
turned  Abolitionist,  there  will  be  no  harm  in  thee  know- 
ing about  him." 

"Who  is  he?"  Allan  asked. 

"His  name  is  Edward  Love  joy,"  was  the  reply.  "He 
is  the  son  of  the  Rev.  Elijah  Lovejoy,  the  Abolitionist 
who  was  murdered  by  a  mob  in  Alton  nearly  twenty  years 
ago.  Thee  has  heard  of  him,  no  doubt?" 

"Yes,"  said  Allan,  "   I  have." 

"It  was  that  murder  which  aroused  Wendell  Phillips," 
Mr.  Coffin  continued.  "Edward  was  a  child  when  his 
father  died ;  but  he  has  pledged  his  life  to  the  cause  of 
the  slave,  and  he  goes  down  into  the  South  and  carries  off 
those  who  will  follow  him.  ' ' 

Allan  gave  an  exclamation  of  amazement. 

"It  is  desperate  work,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Coffin.  "I  do 
not  approve  of  it  myself,  but  there  are  those  who  help 
him,  and  all  my  arguing  has  not  been  enough  to  stop  him. 
He  is  only  five  or  six  years  older  than  thee  is,  but  he  has 
been  doing  this  thing  ever  since  the  Fugitive-slave  law 
was  passed." 

"What  does  he  do?"  Allan  asked,  wonderingly. 

"Mainly  he  helps  the  relatives  of  those  who  have 
already  escaped.  There  is  scarcely  a  week  that  passes 
that  we  do  not  hear  of  some  distressing  case — of  a  mother 
whose  children  have  been  sold — of  a  husband  who  has  had 
to  flee  and  leave  his  wife — of  sons  and  daughters  whose 
parents  are  dying  of  old  age  and  neglect.  Sometimes  we 
raise  the  money  to  buy  them — but  I  have  known  cases 
where  the  owners  would  refuse  to  sell,  merely  by  way 
of  punishing  the  runaways.  I  saw  a  letter  once  from  a 


186  MANASSAS 

sugar  planter  in  Louisiana,  in  which  he  declared,  that  he 
would  flog  the  husband  of  an  escaped  woman  to  death, 
unless  she  came  back.  When  such  things  happen  Love- 
joy  goes  down  and  carries  the  slaves  off." 

"How  does  he  do  it?"  Allan  asked. 

' l  He  is  a  fellow  of  infinite  resources, ' '  said  the  other,  ' '  a 
terrible  and,  I  fear,  a  wicked  young  man.  He  has  no  family 
— his  mother  never  recovered  from  the  shock  of  her  hus- 
band's murder;  and  he  seems  to  be  absolutely  without 
fear  for  himself.  I  know  of  one  case  where  he  passed  for 
a  slave  dealer,  and  in  the  night  rode  away  with  nine 
negro  men  on  their  master's  horses.  In  another  case  he 
went  to  Kentucky  as  a  poultry  merchant,  and  brought 
away  twenty-eight.  They  were  nearly  drowned  crossing 
the  river,  and  daylight  came  before  he  reached  the  city — 
he  had  to  hide  them  in  the  ravines  that  had  been  washed 
in  the  sides  of  the  hills.  He  came  to  me;  he  was  so  wet 
and  muddy  that  I  scarcely  knew  him — he  had  sunk  to  his 
waist,  in  landing,  in  the  quicksands  of  the  river  bank. 
The  situation  of  the  fugitives  was  very  perilous — they 
were  within  sight  of  the  city,  and  the  police  are  always 
on  the  alert  for  runaway  slaves.  I  suggested  that  we 
should  send  to  a  livery  stable  and  hire  some  coaches,  and 
after  taking  in  the  fugitives  form  a  procession  as  if  going 
to  a  funeral,  and  so  get  them  out  of  the  way.  We  put 
food  and  coffee  and  blankets  in  the  coaches,  and  carried 
out  this  plan;  but  it  had  been  very  cold  and  rainy,  and 
one  woman  lost  a  poor  little  baby  she  had  brought  with 
her  —  it  died  while  she  was  in  one  of  the  carriages,  and 
so  it  was  a  funeral  procession  in  fact,  after  all.  Lovejoy 
has  been  twice  betrayed  and  put  in  jail,  but  he  is  a  Free 
Mason,  high  in  the  Order,  and  both  times  he  has  managed 
to  escape.  I  have  not  seen  him  for  several  months — but 
I  had  a  note  from  him  yesterday,  saying  he  was  coming 
to  see  me." 

Mr.  Coffin  stopped;  an  instant  later  there  came  a  ring 
at  the  door-bell.  He  rose.  "Perhaps  that  is  he  now," 
he  said.  "Excuse  me  a  moment." 

He  went  out,  and  Allan  heard  him  greeting  some  one  in 


THE  CRISIS  187 

the  hall.  They  came  toward  the  room,  talking,  and  the 
newcomer  entered  first.  Allan  took  one  glance,  and  then 
started  back  with  a  gasp.  In  the  doorway  stood  his  ac- 
quaintance of  the  steamboat  —  the  accomplice  of  "Dutch 
Joe"  — "Mr.  Carter." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ALLAN  stood  breathless,  and  the  other  stopped  short : 
they  stared,  without  uttering  a  sound,  until  Mr.  Coffin  sud- 
denly cried  out,  "  Thee  has  met  him  before  !  " 

"  Met  him,"  Allan  gasped,  "  I  should  think  I  have  !  " 

"  Where  ?  "  cried  the  Quaker  ;  but  Allan  did  not  answer 
him — the  Westerner  had  sprung  forward,  stretching  out 
his  hand,  and  crying,  "  It  was  true,  after  all  !  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  all  true,"  Allan  said.  "  But  for  heaven's 
sake  —  I  thought  your  name  was  Carter  !  " 

"  I  have  many  names,"  laughed  the  other.  "  But  now, 
quick— tell  me  about  that  negro." 

"You  know  nothing  of  what  happened  to  him  ?" 

44  Absolutely  nothing  —  except  the  few  words  you  told 
me." 

Allan  first  explained  the  situation  to  their  astonished 
host,  and  then  told  hastily  of  his  saving  of  "  Dutch  Joe," 
and  of  the  man's  death.  "  Ah,  that  villain  !  "  cried  Love- 
joy.  "  God  help  me,  but  I'm  going  back  there  to  kill  that 
overseer  !  " 

44  He  is  dead  already,"  Allan  answered,  and  went  on  to 
tell  the  story  of  Henderson's  dreadful  fright. 

44 1  tried  to  help  that  man,"  said  the  other.  44  Heaven 
knows  I  tried  to  help  him  !  I  gave  him  my  horse,  and 
told  him  where  to  tie  it  at  daylight,  and  where  I  would 
leave  it  for  him  again  the  next  night.  I  found  the  horse,  and 
that  was  the  last  I  knew." 

44  He  should  have  hidden,"  Allan  said ;  44  he  moved 
about  —  he  even  killed  a  deer." 

44  There  was  food  tied  to  the  saddle  for  him,"  the  other 
replied ;  44  but  it  came  loose  —  I  found  it  strewed  along  the 
road." 

44  Where  did  you  first  hear  about  the  man  ?  "  Allan  asked, 
after  a  pause. 

188 


THE   CKISIS  189 

"  I  saw  him  when  they  landed  on  the  Kentucky  shore 
with  him  —  Henderson  and  two  others.  I  knew  there  was 
something  wrong,  and  that  night  I  talked  with  the  negro. 'r 

"  Why  didn't  you  have  them  arrested  then  ?  " 

"  Arrested  !  What  evidence  did  I  have  to  offer  ?  I 
had  seen  no  kidnapping  —  the  men  would  have  sworn  the 
negro  came  of  his  own  free  will." 

"  But  the  man  himself  !  "  Allan  exclaimed. 

"  What !  "  replied  Lovejoy.     "  A  slave  in  a  slave  State  ?  " 

"  Sure  enough,"  said  the  other,  recollecting.  A  slave 
was  in  law  not  competent  to  testify. 

"When  a  kidnapper  has  gotten  his  victim  across  the 
line,"  the  Westerner  continued,  uhe  is  generally  quite 
safe  —  unless  some  other  witness  of  his  act  has  chosen  to  fol- 
low him.  And  even  then  —  look  at  the  story  of  that  young 
girl  who  was  carried  off  in  broad  daylight  from  a  town  in 
Pennsylvania  four  years  ago,  and  of  the  man  Miller  who 
went  down  into  Maryland  to  have  her  abductors  punished, 
and  was  kidnapped  from  the  platform  of  a  railroad  car 
and  found  a  few  nights  later  hanging  to  a  tree !  " 

"I  wonder  you  didn't  try  to  free  the  man  on  the 
steamer,"  Allan  said,  after  a  moment's  thought. 

"  I  did,"  was  Lovejoy's  reply,  "  but  I  had  no  file,  or  any- 
thing; and  Henderson  —  and  you  too,  as  I  thought  — 
watched  him  all  the  time.  I  did  my  best ;  before  I  could 
get  the  man  away  at  last  I  thought  that  ruffian  would 
have  him  cut  all  to  pieces  !  " 

"  His  body  was  a  horrible  sight !  "  exclaimed  the  other. 

UA  sight!"  cried  Lovejoy.  "Why,  let  me  tell  you 
what  happened  to  that  man  before  Henderson  ever  saw 
him.  He  was  brought  into  Mississippi  by  a  slave  dealer, 
and  he  ran  away  from  him  and  travelled  over  a  hundred 
miles  northward  —  he  was  almost  out  of  the  State  when 
he  was  stopped  on  suspicion,  and  put  in  jail.  The  law 
of  Mississippi  directs  that  a  jailer  shall  require  a  fugitive 
to  tell  whom  he  belongs  to,  and  shall  write  and  inform  his 
master.  If  no  reply  comes  within  a  certain  short  time  — 
three  weeks,  I  think  it  is  —  he  is  to  whip  him,  the  idea 
being  to  compel  him  to  give  the  right  address.  This  man 

13 


190  MANASSAS 

said  he  gave  the  right  one  the  first  time,  knowing  there 
was  no  use  doing  anything  else ;  but  whether  the  letter 
went  astray,  or  the  jailer  didn't  know  how  to  spell,  or  what 
else  —  the  letter  was  not  answered,  and  that  wretch  was 
tortured  five  different  times  at  intervals  before  he  could 
persuade  the  jailer  to  write  again  to  the  same  address!  " 

They  talked  for  a  long  time  about  these  things  —  they 
each  had  a  long  tale  to  tell.  Allan  explained  what  had 
been  his  position  at  Valley  Hall. 

"I  was  suspicious  of  you  from  the  first,"  he  said  to 
Lovejoy,  and  added,  "I  almost  had  the  truth  out  of  you 
there  on  the  road." 

"You  startled  me  so,"  said  Lovejoy.  "Imagine  my 
situation!  " 

"You  were  very  quick  about  it." 

"  I  have  to  be,  in   my  business,"  was  the  reply.     "  I 
have  had  many  people  offer  me  their  confidence,  as  you 
did,  but  yours  was  the  only  one  in  which  I  even  suspected 
they  might  be  sincere.     And  the  reason  was  a  queer  one  — 
I  had  seen  you  reading  so  many  books  on  the  steamboat !  " 

Allan  laughed.  He  was  studying  his  interlocutor  care- 
fully. The  young  fellow  was  changed  much  in  appear- 
ance since  Allan  had  seen  him  last,  when  hehad  been  roughly 
dressed.  He  proved  to  be  a  person  of  more  education 
than  Allan  had  supposed  —  he  learned  before  long  that 
Lovejoy  had  been  a  student  at  Oberlin,  the  famous  anti- 
slavery  and  coeducational  college  of  Ohio.  He  was  about 
twenty-three,  but  seeming  much  older,  spare,  with  lean 
face  and  prominent  nose  and  mouth.  He  stood  very 
erect  and  eyed  one  keenly  as  he  talked  with  him.  He 
had  evidently  made  up  his  mind  as  to  Allan  at  the  outset, 
for  he  spoke  without  any  reserve. 

"  I  came  to  tell  you,"  he  began  suddenly,  turning  to  Mr. 
Coffin,  "that  I  have  yielded  to  your  entreaties  —  I  am 
going  to  give  up  slave-stealing." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  the  old  gentleman. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lovejoy  —  "I  have  made  my  last  trip  South. 
I  am  going  to  start  to-night  for  the  West  —  for  Kansas." 


THE   CRISIS  191 

Mr.  Coffin's  smile  of  delight  faded.  "  Alas  ! "  he  ex- 
claimed, "  that  is  worse  yet.  Thee  is  going  to  fight !  " 

"  Going  to  fight  !  "  echoed  Lovejoy,  and  then  suddenly 
clenched  his  hand.  "  Going  to  do  something  at  last !  No 
longer  to  talk  and  pother  with  them  —  going  to  have  a  go 
at  them  !  " 

The  man  sat  forward  in  his  excitement.  "  I  am  not  fool 
enough,"  he  went  on,  "not  to  know  how  futile  were  the 
things  I  have  been  doing  —  I  only  did  them  because  I  was 
so  built  I  had  to  do  something.  But  out  there  in  Kansas 
the  trouble  is  really  coming  to  a  head  —  if  you  can  only 
blow  up  the  fire  hot  enough,  there  will  come  a  war  out  of 
that  Kansas  mess  yet  !  " 

"  You  want  a  war  ?  "  Allan  asked,  in  a  low  voice  ;  and 
Lovejoy  cried,  "  I  want  a  war  ! ' 

"  Are  you  one  of  those  who  expect  to  settle  this  thing  by 
standing  up  and  jabbering  about  it  ?  "  he  continued.  "Do 
you  think  that  those  people  have  the  slightest  idea  of  giving 
up,  until  we  have  gone  in  and  walked  over  them  —  smashed 
them  down  so  flat  that  they  never  dare  raise  their  heads  in 
this  country  again?" — And  Lovejoy  shut  his  great  jaw 
so  tight  that  the  muscles  stood  out  in  hard  lumps. 

"  I  understand  you,"  said  Allan,  quietly  ;  "  but  then  —  I 
was  born  a  Southerner  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  "  I  know  ;  and  doubtless  you  love 
the  people  —  you  only  hate  Slavery,  and  all  that  sort  of 
business.  But  I  was  born  a  Northerner,  and  they  mur- 
dered my  father,  and  I  hate  them  —  I  hate  them  like  the 
very  devil,  if  Mr.  Coffin  will  excuse  me.  I  hate  their  pride 
and  their  insolence  —  their  blustering  and  their  boasting 
—  haven't  I  been  down  there  and  sat  and  listened  to  them 
talk  until  I  had  to  go  out  into  the  woods  and  bellow  like 
a  mad  bull  with  rage  ?  Why,  good  God  !  there  have  been 
times  when.  I  have  seen  myself  picking  up  that  whole  ever- 
lasting nigger-stealing  nation  and  shaking  them  until  their 
teeth  flew  out!  —  " 

The  speaker  paused  a  moment ;  then  he  cried  sud- 
denly — "  Take  this  business  of  Sumner  !  Have  you 
heard  the  opinion  of  the  University  of  Virginia  ?  " 


192  MANASSAS 

Allan  shook  his  head  ;  and  the  other  drew  a  newspaper 
from  his  pocket,  and  after  looking  through  it  for  a  mo- 
ment, read  this :  — 

"  From  the  Richmond  Enquirer,  May  30th.  « Another 
Cane  for  Mr.  Brooks  —  We  understand  that  a  very  large 
meeting  of  the  students  of  the  University  of  Virginia  was 
held  on  Tuesday  evening,  to  take  into  consideration  the 
recent  attack  of  the  Hon.  Preston  S.  Brooks  on  Charles 
Sumner,  in  the  United  States  Senate-chamber.  Several 
very  eloquent  speeches  were  delivered,  all  of  which  fully 
approved  the  course  of  Mr.  Brooks,  and  the  resolution  was 
passed  to  purchase  for  Mr.  Brooks  a  splendid  cane.  The 
cane  is  to  have  a  heavy  gold  head,  which  will  be  suitably 
inscribed,  and  also  bear  upon  it  a  device  of  the  human 
head,  badly  cracked  and  broken.  The  chivalry  of  the 
South,  it  seems,  has  been  thoroughly  aroused.'' 

And  Lovejoy  crushed  the  paper  in  his  hands  with  a 
sudden  gesture,  and  hurled  it  to  the  ground.  "  Now  tell 
me, "  he  cried,  "  by  the  Lord  God  Almighty,  is  there  any 
sort  of  an  answer  for  that  but  bayonets  and  sabres  and 
an  everlasting  mash  ?  " 

Allan  dined  with  Mr.  Coffin,  and  afterward  set  out  for 
the  depot  to  take  his  train,  the  young  Westerner  walking 
with  him.  A  strange  and  terrible  man  he  seemed  to 
Allan,  who  was  still  in  his  deepest  heart  half  a  South- 
erner ;  and  guilty  feelings  haunted  him  in  his  presence. 
In  everything  but  years  Lovejoy  was  an  old  man. 

Allan  wondered  what  his  training  must  have  been  — 
surely  brooding  upon  one  tragedy  could  not  have  made  him 
as  rabid  as  he  was.  As  he  walked  along,  talking  about  the 
things  he  had  done  —  taking  long  swift  strides,  his  brows 
knit  and  his  gaze  fixed  straight  in  front  of  him  —  he 
seemed  to  lose  himself  entirely  in  the  ecstasy  of  his  one  pas- 
sion. Was  it  his  long  solitary  expeditions  that  had  caused 
this  tense  self-concentration  —  or  on  the  other  hand  was 
it  this  trait  which  made  the  journeys  pleasing  to  him  ? 

Or  was  the  reason,  as  he  said,  because  he  must  be  doing 


THE  CRISIS  193 

something  ?  The  man's  very  presence  radiated  energy  — 
he  tossed  his  long  arms  about  him  with  excess  of  it,  he 
made  swift  gestures  as  he  talked,  he  shook  his  head,  he 
clenched  his  hands  —  the  people  on  the  street  turned  and 
stared  at  him.  He  had  a  way  of  shutting  up  his  jaw  like 
a  trap  when  he  was  thinking  of  something  that  had  opposed 
him.  He  carried  weapons,  Allan  had  been  told,  and  he  had 
fought  like  a  wild-cat  when  interfered  with. 

He  told  of  an  adventure  he  had  had  in  the  mountains  of 
western  Virginia,  up  the  Kanawha  River  ;  he  had  set  free 
more  than  a  score  of  slaves,  at  the  solicitation  of  relatives 
in  Canada.  They  had  saved  money,  many  hundreds  of 
dollars,  and  Lovejoy  had  represented  himself  as  an  agent 
from  a  firm  in  Kentucky,  intending  to  engage  in  the  salt 
trade.  He  had  contracted  for  the  building  of  two  boats, 
and  for  the  salt  to  fill  them.  While  waiting  he  made 
friends  in  the  town  —  he  had  two  negroes  who  were  called 
his  slaves,  and  who  sought  out  those  who  were  to  escape, 
and  matured  the  plan  with  them.  It  was  early  spring, 
and  the  river  was  high  and  swift;  on  a  Saturday  night,  after 
the  first  boat  was  finished,  a  company  of  the  negroes  and 
one  of  Lovejoy's  "  slaves  "  boarded  it,  and  set  out  at  full 
speed  for  the  Ohio.  On  Monday  morning  he  discovered  his 
loss,  and  wild  with  rage,  fell  to  cursing  his  other  servant, 
accusing  him  of  knowing  of  the  plot.  He  went  in  pursuit 
with  horsemen,  but  only  to  find  the  boat  tied  up  on  the 
Ohio  shore. 

Then  Lovejoy  returned,  to  wait  for  the  completion  of 
the  other  boat  ;  on  the  second  Saturday  night  it  also  dis- 
appeared, with  his  other  servant,  and  another  dozen 
slaves.  Again  he  set  out  with  pursuers,  but  when  they 
reached  the  Ohio,  became  separated  from  them,  and  con- 
ducted the  hidden  fugitives  by  the  Underground  Railroad 
to  Canada. 

—  And  when  Allan  had  recovered  from  his  amazement 
over  that  story,  Lovejoy  laughed.  "  I'll  tell  you  a  better 
one  yet ;  maybe  you  won't  believe  it,  but  I've  got  a  bill  to 
prove  this  one,  somewhere  in  my  pockets  —  for  eighty 
dollars'  worth  of  wigs.  I  bought  them  in  Philadelphia  — 


194  MANASSAS 

gave  out  that  I  was  a  theatrical  agent.  I  brought  out 
forty-three  slaves  with  them  altogether — most  of  them 
were  friends  of  people  living  here  in  Ohio.  They  all  had 
to  be  mulattoes,  of  course  ;  the  first  were  from  Baltimore 
—  I  got  them  all  together  and  powdered  them  up  and  we 
took  a  train  for  Harrisburg  in  broad  daylight.  Then  I 
went  to  Washington  and  brought  out  another  company 
from  there,  without  any  one's  being  the  wiser.  The  third 
time  was  at  Harper's  Ferry  —  one  of  these  was  too  dark, 
and  it  excited  suspicions,  and  we  were  almost  caught. 
We  took  the  express  for  Pittsburg,  but  the  escape  was 
discovered,  and  the  pursuers  engaged  a  special,  and  over- 
took us  just  as  we  were  entering  the  city.  Fortunately 
we  were  on  the  last  car,  and  saw  them,  and  when  the  train 
began  to  slow  up  we  jumped  and  scattered.  There  was 
all  sorts  of  a  time  after  that  —  nobody  was  caught,  but 
several  of  us  thought  we  were  going  to  be.  Maybe  you 
read  about  it  at  the  time — the  whole  city  was  crazy  with  ex- 
citement, and  the  search  was  kept  up  a  week.  But  I 
know  the  Abolitionists  in  every  city,  and  we  were  safely 
hidden.  I  tell  you,  though,  I  still  feel  shaky  when  I  go 
into  Pittsburg !  " 

They  had  come  to  the  depot  and  stood  by  the  cars.  Then 
suddenly  Lovejoy  turned  to  Allan,  gazing  at  him  earnestly. 
"  Why  don't  you  change  your  mind  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Why 
don't  you  come  out  to  Kansas  with  me  ?  " 

But  Allan  shook  his  head.  "  I  want  to  be  quiet  for  a 
while,"  he  said,  hesitatingly.  "  I  want  to  think  things 
over.  I  fear  that  I  should  prove  a  poor  hand  at  fighting." 

Lovejoy  made  a  gesture  of  impatience.  "  But  the  time 
will  come  !  "  he  cried  fiercely.  "  It  will  be  either  win  or 
lose  !  Are  you  going  to  prove  a  coward  ?  " 

The  other's  voice  was  low.  "  I  do  not  feel  brave  enough 
to  say,"  he  answered.  "  I  shall  try  not  to." 

And  suddenly  the  other  gripped  his  big  hand  on  his 
shoulder.  "  Come,  come  !  "  he  said,  "  I  like  that ;  when 
it's  time,  I'll  come  for  you  !  You  will  fight  —  wait  and 
see  !  " 


BOOK   III 
THE  CLIMAX 


CHAPTER  I 

WHEN  Allan  had  been  on  his  way  from  Valley  Hall  to 
Boston,  the  political  parties  were  making  their  nominations 
for  the  presidential  battle.  The  fates  were  unkind  to 
Douglas  —  the  world  was  just  thrilling  with  the  Lawrence 
and  Sumner  episodes,  and  the  Democratic  politicians  in 
their  alarm  were  driven  to  Buchanan,  who  as  minister  to 
England  had  been  out  of  the  country,  and  could  not  be 
blamed  for  these  things.  Douglas  failed  because  he  was 
too  far  ahead  for  one  section  ;  and  the  next  time  he  was 
destined  to  fail  because  he  was  too  far  behind  for  the  other. 
So  it  is  that  the  best  laid  schemes  o'  presidential  candidates 
gang  a-gley. 

The  Republicans,  seeking  a  hero,  chose  Fremont,  the 
explorer.  The  campaign  which  followed  surpassed  in  in- 
tensity anything  which  the  country  had  ever  known  —  the 
meetings  were  attended  by  enormous  crowds  —  in  some 
cases  by  as  many  as  a  hundred  thousand  persons.  On  the 
part  of  the  Republicans  it  was  a  crusade  ;  the  educated 
classes,  the  men  of  letters,  the  clergymen,  the  professors 
and  teachers,  were  all  active  in  their  support.  At  the 
South  it  was  freely  declared  that  the  success  of  Fremont 
would  result  in  the  breaking  up  of  the  Union,  and  it  was 
really  this  which  elected  his  rival. 

James  Buchanan  had  been  congressman,  Secretary  of 
State,  and  minister  to  Russia  and  England,  and  he  was 
now  a  very  old  man.  He  had  risen  to  eminence  by  life- 
long plodding,  and  by  a  diligent  and  pious  reverence  for 
the  commonplace.  Stately  and  formal  in  his  manners, 
unemotional  and  reticent  in  temperament,  it  was  his  habit 
to  wait  until  his  party  had  made  clear  its  precise  attitude 
upon  every  issue,  and  then  to  declare  his  position,  gravely. 
His  party  had  found  him  a  servant  who  shrunk  from  no 
task;  and  so  the  chiefs  of  the  slave  power  had  chosen 

197 


198  MANASSAS 

him.  They  and  not  he  are  responsible  for  the  things  that 
were  done  in  his  name ;  for  he  was  merely  a  muddled  old 
gentleman  who  held  it  an  apotheosis  to  be  set  up  for  four 
years  to  distribute  for  his  party  the  patronage  of  the 
highest  office  of  the  land.  Under  his  rule  the  corruption 
in  the  government  attained  to  gigantic  proportions  —  a 
thing  which  he  himself  confessed  in  one  of  his  messages, 
in  his  own  peculiar  timid  and  helpless  way. 

An  event  of  tremendous  moment  marked  the  opening 
of  his  administration.  In  his  Inaugural  address  he  under- 
took to  explain  that  the  dispute  about  Slavery  in  the 
territories  belonged  "legitimately"  to  the  Supreme  Court 
of  the  United  States  —  "  before  whom  it  is  now  pending, 
and  [by  whom  it]  will,  it  is  understood,  be  speedily  and 
finally  settled.  To  their  decision,  in  common  with  all 
good  citizens,  I  shall  cheerfully  submit,  whatever  this 
may  be."  Thus  strangely  heralded,  the  "  settlement "  was 
handed  down  two  days  later—  in  the  form  of  the  famous 
"  Dred  Scott  decision." 

A  negro  man  by  that  name  had  been  taken  by  his 
master  into  territory  north  of  the  Missouri  Compromise 
line.  He  had  sued  for  his  freedom,  and  the  case  had  been 
before  the  court  nearly  a  year.  Had  he,  in  the  first  place, 
a  right  to  sue  —  was  he  a  citizen  of  the  United  States  ?  If 
so,  then  was  he  now  free,  was  the  Missouri  Compromise 
constitutional?  The  court  contained  at  that  time  five 
justices  from  the  slave  States  and  four  from  the  free;  the 
five,  and  two  of  the  four,  being  Democrats.  The  opinion 
handed  down  was  written  by  the  Chief  Justice  himself, 
and  agreed  to  by  five  of  his  associates.  It  took  a  singular 
course  —  it  first  decided  that  a  negro  was  not  a  citizen,  and 
then,  disregarding  the  fact  that  in  that  case  the  court  had 
no  jurisdiction  and  there  was  nothing  more  to  say,  it  went 
on  to  declare  what  its  decision  would  Otherwise  have 
been:  that  the  territory  "was  acquired  by  the  general 
government,  as  the  representative  and  trustee  of  the 
people  of  the  United  States,  and  must  therefore  be  held 
in  that  character  for  their  common  and  equal  benefit " ; 
that  "the  right  of  property  in  a  slave  is  distinctly  and 


THE  CLIMAX  199 

expressly  affirmed  in  the  Constitution " ;  and  that  "  no 
word  can  be  found  in  the  Constitution  which  gives  Con- 
gress greater  power  over  slave  property,  or  which  entitles 
property  of  that  kind  to  less  protection,  than  property  of 
any  other  description."  The  Missouri  Compromise  Act 
was,  therefore,  "  not  warranted  by  the  Constitution,  and 
void."  Thus  was  the  mad  dogma  of  Calhoun,  forced  upon 
the  Democratic  party  by  the  recklessness  of  Douglas,  now 
three  years  later  declared  the  law  of  the  land  by  the  land's 
highest  tribunal ! 

The  North  read  the  decision  with  amazement ;  it  soon 
crystallized  the  opinion  into  the  sentence  that  "negroes 
have  no  rights  which  white  men  are  bound  to  respect  "  —  a 
thing  which  the  friends  and  partisans  of  Chief  Justice 
Taney  took  as  a  shameful  wrong.  What  he  had  actually 
said  was  that  our  forefathers  had  believed  this  —  and  that 
as  they  had  embodied  the  doctrine  in  the  Constitution,  it 
was  binding  upon  their  descendants  for  all  time.  The 
distinction  was  a  subtle  one,  however,  and  the  people  could 
hardly  be  blamed  if  they  failed  to  appreciate  it. 

Roger  Brooke  Taney  (the  name  is  pronounced  Tawney) 
was  a  member  of  one  of  the  old  aristocratic  families  of 
Maryland.  He  had  come  down  from  a  far-off  time,  having 
been  an  elderly  man  when  he  was  Attorney-General  under 
Jackson.  It  seems  clear  that  he  had  been  influenced  to 
give  this  decision  by  the  Southern  leaders  at  Washington. 
He  was  a  stern  and  incorruptible  judge,  deeply  learned 
in  the  law,  a  venerable  and  majestic  figure  ;  but  he  had 
seen  with  deep  displeasure  the  agitation  of  these  newer 
times,  and  he  let  himself  be  persuaded  that  it  was  his 
power  and  his  duty  to  end  it.  A  slaveholder  himself,  the 
thing  seemed  all  very  simple  to  him.  "  It  is  not  a  case  of 
conscience,"  exclaims  his  official  biographer,  quoting  the 
objections  of  the  agitators  —  "it  is  not  a  case  of  conscience, 
but  a  question  of  law  !  "  —  The  words  resemble  strangely 
those  of  another  famous  decision  —  upon  the  case  of  one 
whom  Taney,  a  devout  Catholic,  worshipped  as  God. 
"  We  have  a  law,"  the  chief  priests  had  proclaimed,  "  and 
by  that  law  he  ought  to  die !  " 


200  MANASSAS 

The  adverse  opinion  of  Justice  Curtis  of  Massachusetts 
became  the  answer  of  the  North  in  the  long  agitation  that 
followed.  Replying  to  the  assertion  that  a  negro  could 
not  be  a  citizen  of  the  United  States  under  the  Constitu- 
tion, he  showed  that  prior  to  the  adoption  of  it,  negroes 
had  possessed  the  electoral  franchise  in  five  of  the  States. 
As  to  the  power  of  Congress  to  prohibit  Slavery  in  the 
territories,  he  cited  eight  instances  in  which  it  had  been 
done  :  the  acts  being  signed  by  all  the  Presidents  from 
Washington  down  to  John  Quincy  Adams, — "all  who  were 
in  public  life  when  the  Constitution  was  adopted." 

The  decision  of  course  became  at  once  the  chief  issue 
before  the  country.  By  the  Democrats  it  was  made  a 
campaign  document,  and  Douglas  proclaimed  it  as  a  final- 
ity. "  Whoever  resists  the  final  decision  of  the  highest 
judicial  tribunal,"  he  declared,  "  aims  a  deadly  blow  to 
our  whole  republican  system  of  government," — failing  with 
curious  fatuity,  or  arrogance,  to  distinguish  between  re- 
sistance to  the  decision  of  a  court  and  political  opposition 
to  it,  two  very  different  things.  It  was  as  if  the  country 
had  been  hypnotized  —  so  much  talk  had  men  heard  of  the 
rights  of  the  South  as  guaranteed  by  the  Constitution, 
they  seemed  to  have  forgotten  entirely  the  fact  that  the 
Constitution  provided  for  its  own  amendment. 

There  were  far-sighted  leaders  in  the  South,  however, 
who  were  not  unaware  of  this  dangerous  fact.  There 
was  a  way  of  meeting  it ;  if  only  constitutions  could  here- 
after be  made  unamendable  —  at  least  in  one  essential 
particular ! 

It  was  proposed  to  admit  "  bleeding  Kansas  "  as  a  State, 
and  an  election  for  delegates  to  a  constitutional  conven- 
tion had  been  held.  The  free-state  party  still  holding 
aloof,  the  body  was  all  proslavery  ;  and  it  adopted  a  state 
constitution  which  proclaimed  that  "  the  right  of  property 
is  before  and  higher  than  any  constitutional  sanction,  and 
the  right  of  the  owner  of  a  slave  to  such  slave  and  to  its 
increase  is  the  same  and  as  inviolable  as  the  right  of  the 
owner  of  any  property  whatever."  This  being  the  case, 


THE   CLIMAX  201 

the  constitution  of  Kansas  was  never  to  be  amended  "  to 
affect  the  right  of  property  in  the  ownership  of  slaves." 

There  was  but  one  obstacle  in  the  way  of  this  happy 
consummation.  A  pledge  had  been  solemnly  given  that  the 
constitution  framed  by  this  convention  should  be  sub- 
mitted to  a  vote  of  the  people  —  both  the  governor  of  the 
territory  and  the  President  of  the  United  States  being 
unequivocally  committed  to  this  course.  This  was  a  part 
of  the  desperate  attempts  which  had  been  made  to  patch 
up  Kansas  affairs  for  preelection  exhibition  purposes. 
Not  all  the  voters,  it  was  feared,  could  be  expected  to  take 
the  robust  view  of  those  in  Washington,  who  marched  in 
procession  beneath  a  banner  which  proclaimed,  "  Kansas 
and  Sumner  :  let  them  bleed  I  " 

But  the  free-state  settlers  in  the  territory  now  outnum- 
bered the  proslavery  two  to  one,  and  this  "  Lecompton 
Constitution  "  would  surely  be  rejected  by  them  if  they 
had  a  chance.  To  meet  the  difficulty  the  ingenious  con- 
vention provided  for  an  election  at  which  the  voters  were 
to  be  free  to  choose  between  the  constitution  "with 
Slavery"  and  the  constitution  "  with  no  Slavery  " —  except- 
ing, of  course,  what  slavery  was  in  the  constitution  ! 

Congress  assembled,  and  this  plan  was  laid  before  it, 
with  the  indorsement  of  the  administration.  It  was  go- 
ing desperately  far  —  too  far,  as  it  proved,  for  many  —  chief 
among  them  being  Douglas.  The  senator  was  to  come 
up  for  reelection  in  the  following  year,  and  he  dared  not 
have  a  thing  such  as  this  to  answer  for.  He  came  to 
Washington,  and  in  an  interview  with  the  President  de- 
clared his  opposition  to  the  fraud.  The  result  was  a 
breach  in  the  Democratic  party. 

Eight  years  ago  Calhoun  had  pointed  out  how  strand 
by  strand  the  rope  which  bound  the  North  and  the  South 
together  was  giving  way.  He  showed  how  first  the 
Methodist  church  had  split,  and  then  the  Baptist,  and  how 
the  Presbyterian  was  about  to  follow.  The  same  thing  had 
since  then  begun  in  the  political  parties  ;  the  Whig  party 
had  been  torn  in  half,  the  American  party  had  been  torn 
in  half  —  and  now  suddenly  man  stared  in  amazement  at 


202  MANASSAS 

the  sight  of  the  Democratic  party  dividing — and  at  Doug- 
las, the  aggressive  proslavery  champion  of  three  years 
before,  now  suddenly  become  a  hero  of  the  antislavery 
hosts  ! 

A  divinity  had  shaped  his  ends,  rough-hew  them  how 
he  would.  He  was  a  man  of  tremendous  force  —  the 
"  Little  Giant,"  his  admirers  called  him  ;  and  given  a 
truth  at  last,  he  made  a  stirring  fight.  The  South  had 
turned  against  him  in  a  frenzy  of  rage  —  there  was  even 
talk  of  treating  him  as  Sumner  had  been  treated,  and  the 
administration  used  its  patronage  openly  to  defeat  him. 
All  through  the  winter  the  struggle  lasted  —  men's  pas- 
sions were  at  fever-heat,  and  in  the  House  it  went  as  far 
as  a  free  fight.  It  was  an  open  secret  that  bribery  was 
resorted  to,  that  government  contracts  and  government 
funds  were  used  to  influence  votes.  It  was  all  in  vain, 
however  —  the  Republicans  were  too  powerful,  and  the 
plot  was  defeated.  The  people  of  Kansas  were  given  a 
chance  at  last  to  express  their  will ;  and  when  they  did 
so,  they  rejected  the  Lecompton  Constitution  by  a  vote  of 
nearly  ten  to  one. 

Douglas  was  now  become  the  hero  of  the  North.  There 
was  talk  of  forming  a  new  party,  which  should  include 
his  followers  and  the  Republicans.  Many  even  went  so 
far  as  to  advise  that  no  opposition  be  made  to  his  reelec- 
tion as  senator  —  influential  journals  such  as  the  New  York 
Tribune  were  advocating  this. 

Those  whom  it  immediately  concerned,  had,  however, 
no  idea  of  adopting  such  a  course  as  this.  They  knew 
Douglas  out  in  Illinois  ;  and  they  had  a  candidate  of  their 
own  besides.  They  brought  him  forward  in  the  spring  of 
1858,  a  backwoods  lawyer  by  the  name  of  Abraham  Lincoln : 
a  long,  ungainly,  big-boned  man,  an  ungraceful  speaker, 
but  shrewd,  and  with  homely  common  sense.  He  had 
been  a  life-long  rival  of  Douglas,  but  only  once  had  he 
ever  been  successful  —  and  that  success,  if  gossip  might 
be  believed,  had  proven  worse  than  any  failure.  They  had 
contested  the  hand  of  the  same  young  lady,  and  the  lady 


THE   CLIMAX  203 

was  now  no  longer  young,  and  had  developed  a  terrible 
temper  !  Now  and  then  in  the  man's  speeches  you  might 
discover  a  lurking  hint  of  the  bitter  jealousy  which  gnawed 
at  him,  who  had  been  so  hopelessly  outstripped  by  the 
brilliant  senator.  Douglas  was  now  in  the  zenith  of  his 
greatness,  and  when  he  travelled  about  the  State  he  went 
in  a  private  car,  and  with  no  end  of  what  his  neglected 
rival  sarcastically  described  as  "thunderings  of  cannon, 
marching  and  music,  fizzle-gigs  and  fireworks." 

As  a  debater  the  senator  was  a  cruel  opponent ;  the 
very  reading  of  his  arguments  to-day  is  enough  to  make 
one  cry  out  with  pain.  It  was  like  trying  to  fight  with 
an  invisible  assailant  —  a  man  could  no  more  hold  him 
than  he  could  a  handful  of  eels.  His  sophistry  was  dia- 
bolical. He  would  restate  your  argument  so  that  you 
could  hardly  see  yourself  where  it  differed  from  what  you 
had  said  —  and  yet,  somehow,  how  different  it  was  !  And 
this  monstrosity  he  would  hold  up  before  the  people,  and 
mock  and  jeer  at  it,  shake  it  until  its  teeth  rattled  and 
the  sawdust  flew  out  of  it ;  and  afterward  what  had  you 
left  but  lame  explanations  and  hair-splitting  distinctions  ? 
Mr.  Lincoln  had  declared  it  his  belief  that  "  this  govern- 
ment cannot  endure  permanently  half -slave  and  half -free." 
And  this,  which  was  a  prophecy,  Douglas  seized  upon  as 
a  programme.  "  In  other  words,"  he  cried,  "  Mr.  Lincoln 
asserts  as  a  fundamental  principle  of  this  government, 
that  there  must  be  uniformity  in  all  the  local  laws  and 
domestic  institutions  of  each  and  all  the  States  of  the 
Union  ;  and  he,  therefore,  invites  all  the  non-slaveholding 
States  to  band  together,  and  make  war  upon  Slavery  in  all 
of  the  slaveholding  States.  .  .  .  He  tells  you  that  the 
safety  of  the  republic,  the  welfare  of  this  Union,  depends 
upon  that  warfare  being  carried  on  until  one  section  or  the 
other  shall  be  entirely  subdued.  .  .  .  My  friends,  will  you 
ever  submit  to  a  warfare  waged  by  the  Southern  States  to 
establish  Slavery  in  Illinois  ?  "  And  when  his  victim  ven- 
tured to  explain  apologetically  that  he  had  made  a  predic- 
tion only  —  "it  may  have  been  a  foolish  one,  perhaps" 


204  MANASSAS 

—  and  to  add  that  he  had  said  a  hundred  times  that  he 
believed  there  was  "  no  right,  and  ought  to  be  no  inclina- 
tion, in  the  people  of  the  free  States  to  enter  into  the  slave 
States  and  interfere  with  the  question  of  Slavery  at  all" 

-  Mr.  Douglas  went  after  that  assertion  in  this  style  : 
"  Now,  Mr.  Lincoln  says  he  will  not  enter  into  Kentucky 
to  abolish  Slavery  there,  but  what  he  will  do  is  to  fight 
Slavery  in  Kentucky  from  Illinois  !  He  will  not  go  over 
there  to  set  fire  to  the  match.  I  do  not  think  he  would. 
Mr.  Lincoln  is  a  very  prudent  man.  But  permit  me  to 
inquire  whether  the  wrong,  the  outrage,  of  interference 
by  one  State  with  the  local  concerns  of  another,  is  worse 
when  you  actually  invade  it  than  it  would  be  if  you  carried 
on  the  warfare  from  another  State  ?  For  the  purpose  of 
illustration,  suppose  the  British  government  should  plant 
a  battery  on  the  Niagara  River  opposite  Buffalo  and  throw 
their  shells  over  into  Buffalo,  where  they  should  explode 
and  blow  up  the  houses  and  destroy  the  town.  We  call 
the  British  government  to  an  account,  and  they  say,  in 
the  language  of  Mr.  Lincoln,  we  did  not  enter  into  the 
limits  of  the  United  States  to  interfere  with  you  ;  we 
planted  the  battery  on  our  own  soil,  and  had  a  right  to 
shoot  from  our  own  soil,  and  if  our  shells  and  balls  fell  in 
Buffalo  and  killed  your  inhabitants,  why,  it  is  your  look- 
out, not  ours  !  " 

Before  long  Mr.  Lincoln,  growing  desperate,  and  hoping 
to  pin  this  slippery  adversary  better  if  he  got  him  face  to 
face,  ventured  to  challenge  him  in  a  series  of  joint  debates. 
These  occurred  throughout  the  fall ;  and  little  by  little 
they  began  to  catch  the  attention  of  the  whole  country, 
and  to  force  upon  it  the  fact  that  a  new  champion  had 
appeared.  For  this  ungainly  "  rail-splitter  "  had  a  way  of 
saying  a  thing  and  making  it  stick  so  tight  that  all  his 
opponent's  wriggling  could  never  get  it  loose.  What 
could  have  been  better,  for  instance,  than  his  definition  of 
"  popular  sovereignty  "  —  "  that  if  one  man  wants  to  en- 
slave another,  no  third  man  has  a  right  to  object  I  "  Or 
than  his  explanation  of  why  Douglas  got  all  the  credit 
for  defeating  the  Lecompton  fraud,  although  he  and  his 


THE  CLIMAX  205 

friends  furnished  only  one-fifth  as  many  votes  as  the  Re- 
publicans —  "  He  says  I  have  a  proneness  for  quoting 
scripture.  If  I  should  do  so  now,  it  occurs  that  he  places 
himself  somewhat  upon  the  ground  of  the  parable  of  the 
lost  sheep  which  went  astray  upon  the  mountains,  and  it 
was  said  that  there  was  more  rejoicing  over  the  one  sheep 
that  was  lost  and  had  been  found,  than  over  the  ninety 
and  nine  in  the  fold  !  "  Or  again  than  his  retort,  when 
Douglas  kept  repeating  over  and  over  a  disproven  slander 
about  him  —  "  as  the  fisherman's  wife,  whose  drowned  hus- 
band was  brought  home  with  his  body  full  of  eels,  said, 
when  she  was  asked,  c  What  is  to  be  done  with  him  ? '  — 
'  Take  the  eels  out  and  set  him  again  ! ' ' 

But  more  important  yet  was  another  point  which  this 
wary  gentleman  made.  The  breach  between  the  two 
halves  of  the  Democratic  party  seemed  already  wide 
enough,  but  it  was  not  yet  wide  enoiigh  for  him  ;  and  he 
slipped  in  a  little  wedge,  and  having  the  senator  out  in 
full  view  of  the  country,  teased  him  into  pounding  upon 
it.  Douglas  had  asked  him  some  questions,  which  he  had 
answered;  and  then  he  put  some  in  return  —  he  asked  the 
senator  in  particular  about  the  little  point  which  Mr. 
Yancey  had  agitated  so  long  ago  —  whether  or  not  the 
people  of  a  territory  had  the  lawful  power  to  exclude 
Slavery  from  it,  prior  to  the  adoption  of  a  State  constitu- 
tion. It  is  said  that  when  Mr.  Lincoln  discussed  with  his 
friends  beforehand  the  putting  of  this  question,  they 
declared  that  if  he  did  it  he  would  lose  the  senatorship. 
It  was  the  crucial  point  —  and  Douglas  would  find  an 
answer  that  would  satisfy  the  State.  Mr.  Lincoln  replied 
that  it  might  cost  him  the  senatorship,  but  that  it  would 
cost  Douglas  the  presidency ;  and  so  he  asked  the  question. 

His  way  of  meeting  it  Douglas  had  many  times  before 
put  forth ;  but  now  was  the  psychological  moment,  and 
his  reply  arrested  the  attention  of  the  country.  It  was 
that  "  Slavery  cannot  exist  a  day  or  an  hour  anywhere  un- 
less it  is  supported  by  local  police  regulations.  .  .  .  And  if 
the  people  are  opposed  to  Slavery,  they  will  elect  represen- 

14 


206  MANASSAS 

tatives  to  the  territorial  legislature  who  will  by  unfriendly 
legislation  effectually  prevent  the  introduction  of  it  into 
their  midst."  This  doctrine,  which  became  known  as  the 
"Freeport  heresy,"  put  an  end  forever  to  the  politi- 
cal hopes  of  Douglas  at  the  South;  it  made  the  breach 
irreparable.  For  it  was  now  no  longer  sufficient  to  deny 
Congress  the  right  to  prohibit  Slavery ;  the  doctrine  of  the 
South  had  become  that  it  was  its  duty  positively  to  main- 
tain it  —  to  enact  and  enforce  a  national  slave  code  in  the 
territories.  The  idea  was  summed  up  by  the  Richmond 
Examiner  in  the  sentence,  that  "Policy,  humanity,  and 
Christianity  alike  forbid  the  extension  of  the  evils  of  free 
society  to  new  peoples  and  coming  generations." 

The  South  was,  in  truth,  moving  fast.  In  that  same 
year  there  appeared  in  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger 
a  definition  of  an  Abolitionist  —  "  Any  man  who  does  not 
love  Slavery  for  its  own  sake  as  a  divine  institution ;  who 
does  not  worship  it  as  the  corner-stone  of  civil  liberty  ;  who 
does  not  adore  it  as  the  only  possible  social  condition  on 
which  a  permanent  republican  government  can  be  erected ; 
and  who  does  not  in  his  inmost  soul  desire  to  see  it  ex- 
tended and  perpetuated  over  the  whole  earth  as  a  means 
of  human  reformation  second  in  dignity,  importance,  and 
sacredness  alone  to  the  Christian  religion."  —  And  to  those 
who  had  learned  to  read  the  signs,  it  was  plain  that  only  a 
short  time  more  could  elapse  before  yet  a  new  demand 
would  be  formulated,  in  accordance  with  this  new  doctrine. 
The  price  of  slaves  at  the  South  was  now  become  enor- 
mously high  —  a  "  prime  field-hand  "  being  worth  as  much 
as  eighteen  hundred  dollars.  It  was  clear  that  if  new 
territory  was  ever  to  be  opened  to  Slavery,  new  slaves  must 
somehow  be  had. 

A  few  radicals  had  begun  the  agitation  ;  it  had  been  con- 
tinually discussed  for  nearly  two  years  now,  and  the  public 
was  taking  interest.  A  society  was  being  formed  for  the 

Eurpose  of  agitating  the  reform  — ?  the  "  African  Labor 
upply  Association,"  as  it  was  called  —  composed  of  the 
leading    citizens   of  the   South.      At   a   meeting   of   the 


THE   CLIMAX  207 

"  Southern  Commercial  Convention,"  a  resolution  had  been 
offered  to  the  effect  that  if  Slavery  were  right,  "  the  natural 
means  to  its  formation  could  not  be  wrong";  and  demand- 
ing, therefore,  the  reopening  of  the  African  slave  trade  ! 

Mr.  Yancey  had  spoken  at  the  convention.  Mr.  Yancey 
was  not  prepared  to  advocate  the  reopening  —  it  was  a 
question  about  which  his  mind  was  not  made  up,  though 
he  owned  that  he  was  leaning  toward  it.  What  he  did 
demand,  however,  and  that  instantly,  was  the  repeal  of  the 
laws  which  proclaimed  the  slave-trade  to  be  piracy.  To  be 
sure  these  laws  had  never  been  enforced ;  but  that  was  not 
the  thing  —  had  not  the  fathers  resisted  the  tax  on  tea, 
small  as  it  was,  solely  for  the  sake  of  the  principle  ?  Mr. 
Yancey's  objection  to  these  laws  was  that  "  they  stand  on 
the  statute  book  as  a  direct  condemnation,  by  our  own 
government,  of  the  institution  of  Slavery  in  its  moral  and 
social  aspects,  and  indirectly  operate  to  restrict  our  politi- 
cal power."  Furthermore  Mr.  Yancey  insisted  that  these 
laws  were  unconstitutional.  The  constitution  provided  that 
the  African  slave-trade  should  not  be  prohibited  by  Con- 
gress before  the  year  1808.  Did  that  mean  that  it  might 
be  prohibited  after  that  ?  Assuredly  not !  Were  not  slaves 
recognized  by  the  Constitution  as  property  ?  And  as  prop- 
erty were  they  not  entitled  to  the  protection  of  the  United 
States,  upon  the  high  seas  as  well  as  in  the  territories  ? 
People  cried  out  about  the  cruelty  of  it  —  was  not  the 
domestic  slave  trade  precisely  the  same  thing,  so  far  as  it 
was  carried  on  by  sea  ?  And  did  not  the  passage  from 
Washington  to  New  Orleans  often  take  longer  than  the 
one  across  the  Atlantic  ?  Yet  tens  of  thousands  of  slaves 
were  taken  South  by  this  route  every  year,  and  no  one 
found  any  fault  with  it. 

During  all  these  years,  of  course,  the  African  trade 
had  in  reality  been  going  on  merrily  in  spite  of  the  law. 
Senator  Douglas  had  just  been  reported  as  declaring  his 
belief  that  fifteen  thousand  native  Africans  had  been 
brought  into  the  country  in  the  previous  twelve  months, 
and  it  was  notorious  that  wild  Guinea  negroes  occasionally 
celebrated  their  dances  in  the  public  squares  of  New 


208  MANASSAS 

Orleans.  In  December  of  the  year  '58  the  country 
was  shaken  by  the  famous  incident  of  the  Wanderer  —  a 
palatial  private  yacht  flying  the  flag  of  the  New  York 
Yacht  Club,  which  took  on  board  a  cargo  of  seven  hun- 
dred and  fifty  slaves  at  the  Congo  River  and  landed  them 
on  the  Georgia  coast.  The  news  leaked  out,  and  there 
was  tremendous  excitement,  and  some  arrests — but  nothing 
came  of  it,  of  course.  The  yacht  was  condemned  and  sold 
at  public  auction,  but  so  deep  was  the  sympathy  of  the 
South  with  the  owner  that  no  one  would  bid  against  him, 
and  he  bought  the  vessel  back  for  one-quarter  of  its  value. 

The  negroes  could  be  bought  for  fifteen  or  twenty 
dollars  apiece,  on  the  slave  coast,  and  sold  in  the  South 
for  five  or  six  hundred  ;  there  were,  therefore,  millions  in 
one  successful  voyage,  and  it  was  no  wonder  the  business 
flourished.  Under  the  law  it  was  death,  and  confiscation 
of  the  vessel ;  but  even  the  latter  penalty  was  seldom 
enforced  —  as  one  may  gather  from  the  record  in  the  Sen- 
ate Documents  of  the  Thirty-seventh  Congress,  in  which 
appears  the  quaint  fact  that  "  the  bark  Cora  and  cargo  " 
were  arrested  and  bonded  in  New  York  on  June  23,  1860, 
and  arrested  again  on  the  slave  coast,  December  10  of 
the  very  same  year!  It  was  declared  by  the  New  York 
Leader  (Democratic)  that  "an  average  of  two  vessels 
each  week  clear  out  of  our  harbor,  bound  for  Africa  and 
a  human  cargo."  The  London  Times  called  New  York 
"  the  greatest  slave-trading  mart  in  the  world." 

Most  horrible  are  the  stories  recorded  of  this  traffic ; 
the  slavers  were  built  as  a  rule  with  decks  five  feet  apart, 
and  between  these  was  a  shelf,  so  that  two  layers  of  ne- 
groes were  laid  within  this  space.  Cases  had  been  known, 
after  the  trade  had  been  outlawed,  in  which  the  wretches 
were  packed  in  a  space  only  eighteen  inches  high,  and 
others  where  they  were  seated,  each  man  with  another 
crowded  upon  his  lap,  as  on  a  toboggan.  Thus  they 
remained  sealed  up  tight  for  days,  if  a  storm  chanced  to* 
arise  ;  it  is  recorded  that  the  naval  vessels  cruising  on  the 
slave  coast  could  detect  a  vessel  five  miles  up  the  wind  by 
the  odor.  It  was  necessary,  if  the  slaver  were  to  be  held, 


THE   CLIMAX  209 

that  she  should  be  taken  with  the  negroes  actually  on 
board  ;  and  the  captain  of  one,  stopped  in  the  night-time, 
tied  six  hundred  slaves  to  his  ship's  cable,  and  sank  them 
to  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

This  was  the  new  demand  which  was  to  be  presented  to 
the  North.  Little  by  little  one  might  see  the  signs  of  it  — 
the  Democratic  Review  of  New  York  published  an  article 
in  which  it  denounced  indignantly  the  British  authorities 
for  allowing  their  cruisers  now  and  then  to  stop  slavers 
which  were  under  the  sacred  protection  of  the  American 
flag.  The  article  went  on  to  discuss  the  whole  matter  — 
gingerly,  but  with  no  uncertain  purpose.  The  writer  put 
the  question,  "  How  much  better  off  than  slaves  are  vast 
numbers  of  the  inhabitants  of  British  territory  ? "  —  a 
question  that  Southerners  in  those  days  were  very  fond 
of  putting,  and  which,  curiously  enough,  some  English- 
men are  putting  still.  The  writer  of  the  article  went  on 
to  give  it  as  his  weighty  opinion  that  "  the  signs  of  the 
times  portend  and  foreshadow  the  importance  of  an  ex- 
amination into  the  warrant  of  authority  from  Congress  to 
enact  laws  prohibiting  the  slave-trade,  a  commerce  justi- 
fiable and  lawful  under  the  code  of  nations." 

The  article  was  patently  a  "feeler."  One  could  almost 
see  the  politicians  who  had  put  it  out,  debating  it,  sen- 
tence by  sentence  —  each  cunningly  constructed,  weighed 
and  measured.  This  must  be  said  plainly  —  this  must  be 
veiled  —  this  must  not  be  mentioned  ;  and  now,  how  will 
they  take  it  ?  What  will  be  the  answer  of  the  North? 

The  answer  was  being  prepared  elsewhere. 


CHAPTER   II 

IT  was  in  the  summer  of  the  year  1859,  when  Allan,  who 
was  in  Boston,  received  an  unexpected  visit  from  Love- 
joy.  "  I  have  come  for  you  as  I  promised,"  was  all  he 
would  say  —  he  would  not  tell  what  he  meant. 

He  was  bent  upon  sending  Allan  on  a  mysterious 
errand.  "  You  must  go  !  "  he  kept  saying.  "  You  must 
simply  go,  and  ask  no  questions.  The  reason  is,  that  I 
want  you  to  go  without  any  preconceptions.  I  shall 
only  tell  you  that  it  is  a  man  I  intend  you  to  meet." 

44  Where  is  he  ?  "  Allan  inquired. 

44  It  will  mean  a  trip  into  Pennsylvania.  I  cannot  go 
with  you,  for  I  am  here  on  business  that  will  keep  me  I 
do  not  know  how  long.  Besides,  I  want  you  to  have  this 
experience  all  by  yourself." 

Allan  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  lost  in  thought. 
"  You  must  realize,"  he  said,  "  that  you  are  asking  a  great 
deal  of  me." 

"  This  man  has  kept  me  occupied  for  almost  a  year  and 
a  half,"  the  other  answered,  "  and  it  has  never  been  my 
habit  to  waste  my  time,  you  know.  And  if  I  ask  you  to 
take  so  much  of  yours,  it  must  be  because  I  am  absolutely 
sure  that  the  event  will  justify  me."  —  Lovejoy  was  so 
very  determined,  and  so  aggressive,  that  the  other  found 
himself  helpless.  "  I  will  go,"  he  said. 

44  Will  you  go  to-morrow  ?  "  the  other  demanded. 

44 1  will  go  to-morrow,"  Allan  said.  44 1  will  go  when- 
ever you  wish." 

So,  early  on  the  following  morning  —  it  was  a  day  in 
August  —  Allan  started  for  Chambersburg,  Pennsylvania. 
His  instructions  were  to  go  to  the  barber  shop  of  Henry 
Watson,  and  there  ask  for 44  Isaac  Smith,  the  sheep  dealer." 
He  bore  a  line  written  by  Lovejoy. 

210 


THE   CLIMAX  211 

The  journey  took  him  all  day,  and  he  spent  a  night  at 
the  hotel,  and  in  the  morning  set  out  to  seek  his  destina- 
tion. Something  unexpected  occurred  at  the  outset  —  as 
he  came  from  the  building  a  colored  man  passed  by,  a  tall, 
commanding  figure,  walking  swiftly;  and  though  it  had 
been  six  or  seven  years  since  Allan  had  seen  him,  he  knew 
him  at  once  —  it  was  Frederick  Douglass  !  The  man 
noticed  him  start,  and  gave  a  swift  glance  at  him  as  he 
passed. 

Allan  sought  out  the  barber  shop  and  found  that  Henry 
Watson  was  a  colored  man,  old  and  wizened  ;  he  inquired 
for  Isaac  Smith,  the  sheep  dealer,  according  to  directions. 
The  negro  gazed  round  his  shop  nervously,  as  if  fearing 
lest  some  one  might  have  heard ;  then  he  made  haste  to 
close  up  the  place,  and  left  with  Allan. 

They  walked  a  mile  or  two,  leaving  the  town  behind 
them  ;  Allan  was  burning  up  with  curiosity,  but  the  negro 
did  not  speak  a  word.  They  came  at  last  to  an  old  stone 
quarry,  and  here  he  began  gazing  about  him  nervously, 
saying,  "We'd  best  be  kinder  keerful,  mass'r." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  Allan  said. 

"  He  might  shoot,  mass'r,"  said  the  guide,  proceeding, 
evidently,  in  great  trepidation.  Suddenly  the  figure  of  an 
old  man  appeared  from  behind  a  pile  of  boulders,  and  the 
negro  stopped  short.  The  old  man  came  slowly  toward 
them,  eying  them  closely.  He  was  clad  in  rough  country 
costume,  very  much  worn,  and  yellow  with  dust ;  an  old 
hat  was  pulled  down  over  his  eyes,  and  in  one  hand  he  car- 
ried a  fish  pole.  "  Dat's  him,"  said  the  negro. 

The  person  slouched  toward  them  carelessly  ;  when  he 
was  near  he  halted,  and  inquired,  "  Well  ?  " 

Allan  took  out  the  paper  Lovejoy  had  given  him,  and 
handed  it  to  the  man,  who  took  it  without  a  word,  and 
glanced  at  it.  Then  he  said  "  Oh  !  "  and  gazed  up  at  Allan 
once  more,  holding  out  his  hand.  "  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?  " 
he  said. 

Allan  responded  courteously,  and  the  other  continued, 
"  I  am  expecting  some  one  else  ;  let  us  sit  down  and  wait." 

They  returned  behind  the  boulders,  where  they  were  out 


212  MANASSAS 

of  sight  of  the  road.  The  stranger  laid  down  his  fish  pole 
and  seated  himself ;  Allan  eyed  him  in  perplexed  wonder. 

He  was  a  man  of  about  sixty  years  of  age,  powerfully 
made,  tall  and  military  in  his  carriage  ;  by  his  speech  he 
was  evidently  not  quite  the  boor  he  was  dressed.  His 
head  was  very  long  and  narrow,  and  a  long  wrhite  beard 
accentuated  this  curious  feature.  His  hair  shot  up  from 
his  forehead,  bristling  and  straight,  and  his  brows  were 
knitted  as  if  in  intense  thought  or  effort.  Beneath  them 
gleamed  a  pair  of  bluish  eyes,  keen  and  restless  —  the 
whole  face  was  alert,  and  even  wild,  in  its  expression. 
The  old  man  was  as  nervous  as  a  hunted  animal  just  then; 
he  soon  started  up  again,  gazing  expectantly  in  every  di- 
rection. His  face  was  haggard  and  drawn,  as  if  he  had 
long  been  under  a  great  strain. 

Once  more  he  came  and  seated  himself  opposite  Allan, 
and  said:  "  You  must  excuse  me,  sir,  if  I  warn  you  a  little 
in  advance  of  the  seriousness  of  what  you  are  going  to 
listen  to  here.  For  twenty  years  I  have  been  toiling  and 
suffering  for  the  purpose  about  which  I  am  going  to  tell 
you ;  and  never  before  have  I  consented  that  any  one 
should  know  of  it,  except  one  whom  I  myself  knew.  In 
your  case  I  have  taken  Lovejoy's  word  for  the  fact  that  I 
may  trust  you  —  he  seemed  to  be  very  anxious  for  us  to 
meet." 

"  What  is  the  thing  of  which  you  speak?  "  Allan  asked  ; 
but  before  the  old  man  could  reply  there  was  a  sound,  and 
he  sprang  to  his  feet  again.  Some  people  were  approach- 
ing, and  he  went  to  meet  them.  He  came  back  with  two 
colored  men;  Allan  started  —  one  of  them  was  Frederick 
Douglass ! 

The  stranger  introduced  them,  and  seeing  the  other 
looking  at  him,  Allan  said,  "  I  half  met  you  once  before, 
Mr.  Douglass — a  long  time  ago." 

"  I  noticed  you  seemed  to  recognize  me  to-day,"  the 
other  answered.  "When  was  it?" 

"  I  wonder  if  you  remember  the  '  young  Southerner ' 
whom  Professor  Otis  brought  to  hear  you  once  ?  " 


THE   CLIMAX  213 

A  sudden  light  flashed  over  the  big  mulatto's  face. 
44  Ah  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  do  remember  !  " 

44  Perhaps,"  the  other  answered,  44  it  may  be  a  comfort  to 
a  lecturer  to  know  of  one  case  where  his  seed  fell  on  good 
soil." 

44  Assuredly  it  must  have,"  was  Douglass's  reply,  after 
a  moment  — 44  you  being  here !  It  is  an  extraordinary 
coincidence." 

44  Very  interesting,  very  interesting  indeed,"  put  in  the 
44  sheep  dealer  "  —  in  a  tone  that  showed  he  did  not  think 
it  interesting  at  all.  44  And  now,  gentlemen,  since  we're 
here,  and  there  is  no  time  to  lose  —  to  business  !  Wat- 
son, I  want  you  please  to  keep  moving  round  outside, 
and  whistle  if  any  one  comes.  Carry  that  fish  pole  with 
you." 

44  Yes,  sah,"  said  the  old  negro,  moving  away. 

The  four  sat  down.  The  other  negro  was  an  old  man 
by  the  name  of  Green  ;  he  sat  very  quiet,  venturing  not  a 
word. 

44  Now,"  said  Douglass,  suddenly  ;   44  tell  us  the  plan !  " 

The  old  man  put  his  hand  upon  the  speaker's  knee. 
44  Douglass,"  he  said  pleadingly,  44 1  want  you  to  come 
with  me  —  I  want  you  badly  !  My  bees  will  begin  to 
swarm  —  and  you  are  the  man  to  hive  them." 

He  paused  for  a  moment.  44  Listen,"  he  said,  44  you  will 
never  have  another  chance  like  this.  Think  how  long  I 
have  been  planning  and  toiling  —  and  now  at  last  the 
hour  !  I  have  the  means,  I  have  everything ;  and  nothing 
can  turn  me,  Douglass.  We  shall  prevail,  we  shall  pre- 
vail—  it  has  been  revealed  to  me  ;  the  hand  of  God  is 
in  it,  it  is  His  will !  4  And  the  Lord  looked  upon  him 
and  said,  Go  in  thy  might,  and  thou  shalt  save  Israel 
from  the  hands  of  the  Midianites;  have  not  I  sent 
thee?" 

The  negro  sat  staring  in  front  of  him.  The  old  man 
halted  and  watched  him  eagerly  for  a  moment,  then 
went  on. 

44  Do  you  never  weary  of  this  talk  f  "  he  cried,  with 
sudden  vehemence.  44  Does  it  never  flash  over  you  how 


214  MANASSAS 

futile  is  all  this  that  you  do?  These  people  will  never 
set  you  free  —  their  hand  is  upon  you  —  they  laugh  at  all 
your  efforts !  How  many  years  have  you  been  at  it  — 
how  many  will  you  be  at  it  —  before  you  see  it  as  I  see 
it?  I  tell  you  a  hundred  slaves  in  Virginia  can  do  more 
for  freedom  in  one  day  than  a  hundred  thousand  Aboli- 
tionists in  Massachusetts  in  their  whole  lifetime !  Why 
should  not  your  people  fight  their  own  battle,  as  other 
peoples  have  done  before  them  ?  And  you  —  why  should 
you  not  be  their  Moses,  to  lead  them  out  of  the  house  of 
bondage  —  you,  you  ?  What  is  this  temper  in  you  that 
dreads  a  blow  so  much?  You  shrink  from  bloodshed  — 
consider  the  blood  of  your  brothers  in  Slavery !  How 
many  lives  could  be  balanced  against  the  continuance  for 
one  more  year  of  this  system,  which  makes  every  seventh 
woman  of  a  whole  race  a  harlot  ?  It  cannot  be  the  price 
of  .a  failure  that  you  dread  ;  I  know  it  is  not  that,  Doug- 
lass—  you  are  no  coward!  " 

The  old  man  stopped  again ;  Douglass  answered  him 
promptly,  —  "I  wish  to  see  a  chance  of  success." 

"  I  know  !  I  know !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man,  excitedly. 
"  But  there  will  be  no  chance  of  success  until  we  have  made 
it.  We  are  twenty  resolute  men  with  arms  in  our  hands, 
and  we  raise  our  banner  —  there  is  the  chance  !  Why,  didn't 
Nat  Turner,  with  fifty  men,  hold  at  bay  all  Virginia  for 
five  weeks?  That  many  men  to-day,  and  I  tell  you  I 
could  shake  the  system  out  of  the  whole  State !  It  is  the 
start  that  is  needed,  Douglass,  the  rallying-point,  the 
call !  Do  you  not  think  that  these  people  have  souls  in 
them,  do  you  not  think  they  will  leap  to  arms  when  the 
arms  are  there?  Give  a  slave  a  pike  and  you  make  him 
a  man ;  and  when  he  has  shown  himself  a  man  the  nation 
will  respect  him  —  never  before,  I  tell  you.  You  may 
lecture,  preach,  protest  —  all  day,  all  night,  all  your  life- 
time —  and  never  set  free  one  single  man.  But  once  make 
war  on  the  system  —  once  frighten  it  —  and  then  see  what 
happens ! " 

The  man  was  speaking  swiftly,  his  face  alive  with 
energy  ;  the  negro  still  sat  gazing  in  front  of  him.  "  I 


THE   CLIMAX  215 

think  they  will  overwhelm  you  before  you  get  started," 
he  said. 

"  The  mountains,  Douglass,  the  mountains  ! "  cried 
the  other.  "Have  not  the  mountains  been  the  home  of 
freedom  from  all  time  ?  I  firmly  believe  that  God  has  put 
that  chain  through  these  States  for  no  purpose  but  to  be 
used  for  the  emancipation  of  the  slave.  And  I  know 
them  —  I  could  keep  a  body  of  men  there,  hiding  and 
fighting  —  they  are  full  of  natural  forts,  where  one  man 
would  be  a  match  for  a  hundred.  And  do  you  not  think 
that  the  slaves  would  flee  to  us  there  ?  Would  not  the 
news  spread  like  wildfire  ?  Would  they  not  come  troop- 
ing in  day  and  night  ?  And  do  you  not  see  that  we  have 
accomplished  our  purpose  when  once  we  have  rendered 
Slavery  insecure — when  we  have  destroyed  the  money 
value  of  slaves  ?  " 

Again  the  old  man  halted.  "  What  arms  have  you  ?  " 
asked  the  other. 

"I  have  two  hundred  Sharp's  rifles,  —  the  old  Kansas 
rifles, — two  hundred  revolvers,  and  about  a  thousand  pikes." 

"  And  where  are  you  going  to  strike  ?  " 

"  My  first  move,"  he  answered  promptly,  "  will  be  to 
capture  the  arsenal  at  Harper's  Ferry." 

Douglass  started  back  with  a  look  of  amazement  in  his 
face.  "  What!  "  he  gasped. 

"  That  is  my  plan,"  said  the  other. 

Allan,  too,  had  given  vent  to  a  cry  of  amazement  at 
this  —  the  first  sound  he  had  made.  Through  it  all  he 
had  sat,  frozen  into  sudden  attention,  staring  at  the  wild- 
eyed  man  before  him,  confounded  with  amazement,  hor- 
ror —  scarcely  able  to  realize  the  words  he  heard.  Every 
nerve  of  his  body  was  tingling. 

"  Surely,  you  cannot  mean  that  !  "  went  on  Douglass, 
aghast.  "  Why  —  that  will  be  to  attack  not  the  South, 
but  the  Federal  government  !  It  will  turn  all  the  nation 
against  you  !  " 

"  It  will  serve  as  a  notice  to  all  the  slaves,"  the  other 
replied.  "  They  will  rally  to  it  as  to  a  trumpet-call  — 
and  the  arms  are  there,  you  know." 


216  MANASSAS 

"  But  you  will  be  surrounded  and  cut  off  in  six  hours  ! 
Why  —  " 

"  We  will  find  means  to  cut  our  way  out,"  said  the  old 
man.  "  And  besides,  our  first  step  will  be  to  take  the  resi- 
dents of  the  neighborhood  prisoners,  and  we  can  hold 
them  as  hostages,  and  dictate  terms  of  egress." 

Douglass  clenched  his  hands  in  his  excitement,  and 
struck  them  on  his  knees.  "  It  is  madness  ! "  he  cried. 
"Madness!  Why,  they  would  blow  you  and  your  hos- 
tages to  the  skies  before  they  would  let  you  escape  them  ! 
Believe  me,  Captain  Brown,  believe  me  —  I  know  them — I 
have  lived  among  them  !  " 

"  Listen  to  me  !  listen  to  me  I "  exclaimed  Captain 
Brown,  swiftly.  A  long  and  excited  argument  followed. 
The  old  man  held  to  his  contention  ;  he  was  not  to  be 
shaken ;  he  had  evidently  thought  out  his  plan  in  all  its 
details  —  he  had  maps  and  drawings  of  the  neighborhood, 
and  an  answer  for  every  argument.  The  dismay  of 
Douglass  as  he  realized  it  was  complete. 

"  You  will  never  succeed  in  it  !  "  he  reiterated,  again 
and  again.  "  You  are  going  into  a  trap,  a  perfect  trap  ; 
and  once  in,  there  will  be  no  hope  for  you  !  " 

Captain  Brown  —  Allan  had  by  this  time  understood 
that  "Isaac  Smith"  was  not  his  name  —  sat  with  his  pierc- 
ing eyes  fixed  upon  the  negro,  waiting  while  he  poured 
out  his  protests.  Then,  when  he  stopped,  he  began  sud- 
denly, in  a  low  voice,  "  '  Thou  comest  to  me  with  a  sword, 
and  with  a  spear,  and  with  a  shield  ;  but  I  come  to  thee 
in  the  name  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  the  God  of  the  armies 
of  Israel,  whom  thou  hast  defied  ! ' 

There  was  a  pause  ;  and  then  again  the  old  man  went 
on,  his  voice  lower  yet,  and  trembling  with  intense  emo- 
tion. "  And  suppose  that  you  are  right  —  suppose  that  it 
is  the  will  of  the  Lord  that  this  plan  of  mine  should  fail  — 
do  you  think  that  He  can  find  no  way  of  turning  it  all 
to  His  profit,  even  then  ?  Let  them  capture  me  —  what 
then  ?  Might  it  not  very  well  turn  out  that  I  should 
prove  to  be  worth  more  for  hanging  than  for  any  other 
purpose?  Do  you  think  that  it  will  be  worth  nothing 


THE  CLIMAX  217 

that  one  man  has  risen  up  to  testify  to  the  crimes  of  this 
land,  that  must  be  purged  away  in  blood  ?  Do  you  think 
that  if  they  were  to  hang  me  for  it  —  that  it  would  not  send 
a  shudder  through  every  slaveholder  —  that  it  would  not 
show  the  way  to  every  seeker  of  freedom,  black  or  white  ? 
Verily  would  it  be  said  once  more  —  '  The  dead  which  he 
slew  at  his  death  were  more  than  they  which  he  slew  in 
his  life  ! ' ! 

There  was  a  long  silence.  "  You  are  prepared  for  that 
fate  ?  "  asked  the  negro  at  last. 

"  I  am,"  the  other  replied.  Then  he  leaned  forward 
pleadingly.  "  You  won't  come  with  me,  Douglass  ?  "  he 
exclaimed. 

The  negro  shook  his  head.  "For  such  a  purpose  as 
that,"  he  said,  "one  will  be  as  good  as  twenty." 

"  And  you  ?  "  asked  the  old  man,  turning  to  Allan. 

Allan  was  too  much  dazed  to  find  a  word  ;  but  he  also 
shook  his  head.  Captain  Brown  turned  away  with  a  sigh 
—  and  then  suddenly  the  other  colored  man  sprang  up. 

"  Massa ! "  he  cried.  It  was  the  first  sound  he  had 
made,  and  the  old  man  seemed  to  have  forgotten  his 
presence.  "  Well  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  go  wid  yo'  !  "  cried  the  negro,  in  broken  English. 
"  I  go  help  !  I  been  a  slave  all  my  days —  I  jes'  git  free 
now  ;  but  I  go  back  wid  yo'  —  I  go  help,  even  if  I 
die  ! " 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  they  parted,  and 
Allan  and  Douglass  walked  back  alone.  "  Who  is  that 
man?"  asked  the  former,  in  wonder. 

"  His  name  is  John  Brown,"  the  other  replied.  "  4  Old 
Brown  of  Kansas,'  as  people  call  him." 


CHAPTER   III 

ALLAN  got  alone  as  soon  as  he  could,  and  he  went  back 
to  Boston  like  a  person  in  a  dream.  The  things  which 
he  had  heard — they  were  so  monstrous  that  he  could 
scarcely  persuade  himself  that  they  were  real,  that  that 
strange  madman  whose  voice  still  rang  in  his  ears  was  not 
a  creature  of  his  own  sick  imaginings.  An  attack  on 
Harper's  Ferry  !  And  an  insurrection  of  the  slaves  ! 

He  sought  out  Lovejoy  again;  and  Lovejoy  gazed  at 
him,  smiling.  "So,"  he  said,  "  you  found  it  worth 
while ! " 

"  Lovejoy,"  he  cried,  "do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you, 
with  your  common  sense,  are  going  to  join  in  that 
attempt?" 

"  As  to  that,"  the  other  answered,  "  I  don't  know  how 
to  explain.  But  you  know,  Montague,  I've  been  with 
Captain  Brown  out  in  Kansas  most  of  the  time,  nearly 
ever  since  I  left  you,  over  three  years  ago.  And  some- 
how he's  a  hard  sort  of  a  man  to  get  away  from  —  he 
knows  his  own  mind,  and  he  fights  !  " 

"You  will  be  overwhelmed  !  "  Allan  cried.  "It  is  the 
plan  of  a  maniac  !  " 

"Sometimes  I  have  thought  so,"  Lovejoy  said,  "but 
there  are  two  sides  to  the  thing.  If  there  wasn't  some 
risk,  you  know,  there  wouldn't  be  any  fun." 

He  paused  a  moment.  "I've  been  in  all  sorts  of 
scrapes  in  my  time,"  he  went  on;  "and  I've  come  out  of 
'em  all — I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  came  out  of  even  this.  I 
fear  I'm  too  practically  minded  a  person  to  rejoice  in  my 
own  martyrdom,  as  I  declare  I  believe  the  old  man  would. 
You  didn't  get  a  chance  to  hear  him  pray  while  you  were 
down  there,  did  you?  " 

"  No,"  Allan  said. 

218 


THE   CLIMAX  219 

"  Well,"  said  Lovejoy,  "  John  Brown  knows  the  Bible, 
chapter  and  verse,  and  every  word  by  heart ;  and  what's 
more,  he  believes  it  all — takes  in  every  word  of  it,  the 
blood  and  all  the  rest.  He  makes  us  all  say  grace  before 
and  after  each  meal;  and  night  and  morning,  wherever 
he  is,  he  gets  the  whole  crowd  together  and  prays  with 
'em.  You  never  heard  anything  like  it,  Montague — the 
negroes,  some  of  them,  just  fall  down  on  their  faces  and 
roll.  And  you  know  I'm  not  that  sort,  but  God  ! — it  some- 
times gets  on  my  nerves,  even.  The  point  about  all  this 
seems  to  be,  that  it  doesn't  matter  where  we  strike,  for  if 
the  Almighty  wishes  us  to  win,  He  will  come  down  to  our 
aid  and  see  to  it;  and  if  He  doesn't  do  it,  it  will  be 
because  it  is  best  for  us  to  perish.  So  what  kind  of  a 
reply  can  you  make  to  an  argument  like  that?" 

"  You  can  keep  out  of  it ! "  Allan  cried.  "  Why  go 
with  him?" 

"  I  go  with  him  because  I  see  the  best  chance  I  ever  had 
to  strike  a  blow  at  Slavery.  Don't  you  see  that  the  very 
boldness  of  it  is  what  will  count?  Why,  man,  it  will 
scare  this  land  like  the  judgment  trump  !  And  when  will 
the  slaves  ever  rise,  if  they  don't  rise  at  such  a  chance  ?  " 

"  They  won't  ever  rise  !  "  Allan  cried,  vehemently. 
"  That's  just  the  madness  of  the  thing  —  the  wickedness 
of  it — they  have  no  idea  of  rising  !  " 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Lovejoy.  "  How  are  you  going  to  be 
sure  of  it,  till  you've  tried  'em  ?  " 

He  waited  a  moment  for  the  other  to  reply ;  then,  see- 
ing that  he  did  not,  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  him.  "  Surely," 
he  said  gravely,  "  you  don't  mean  to  deny  that  a  man  has 
a  right  to  strike  for  his  freedom  if  he  can?  " 

Allan  hesitated.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  not  that.  If  it  were 
a  slaves'  uprising,  I  could  not  blame  it.  But  it's  going 
down  there  and  trying  to  incite  them  — 

"  Going  down  there  and  giving  them  a  chance  !  "  broke 
in  Lovejoy,  excitedly.  "  What  chance  have  they  other- 
wise, with  no  arms,  no  communications — bound  hand  and 
foot  as  they  are  ?  " 

There  was  another  pause;  then   Lovejoy  broke  into  a 


220  MANASSAS 

laugh.  "  It's  funny,"  he  said,  "  I  think  it's  in  the  blood. 
You're  a  Southerner ;  and  although  you  hate  Slavery,  and 
call  yourself  an  Abolitionist,  you're  a  Southerner  still, 
and  just  as  bad  as  the  worst  of  'em.  If  it  were  Poles  or 
Italians  who  were  going  to  rise  up  to-morrow,  you'd  be 
at  the  head  of  them ;  but  it's  niggers !  So  you  come 
home,  trembling  with  horror  at  what  you've  heard — and 
looking  as  you'd  seen  a  ghost  ! " 

"  It's  because  I  know  the  people,"  Allan  answered.  "  I 
know  them,  and  you  don't !  I  know  they  don't  want  to 
rise,  and  couldn't  govern  themselves  if  they  did  rise  — 

"  Yes,"  put  in  the  other,  "  I've  heard  all  that ;  but  if 
that's  all,  you  needn't  worry  yourself.  I  assure  you  that 
when  I  have  once  made  up  my  mind  that  they  won't  rise, 
I  shan't  go  on  rising  for  them." 

"But  meanwhile  you  violate  the  law  !     And  you  — 

"  Oh,  pshaw  I  "  laughed  the  Westerner.  "Why  didn't 
you  argue  all  that  with  the  old  man?  He  has  it  reasoned 
out,  you  know — he's  fond  of  the  metaphysics  of  things. 
Slavery  is  a  state  of  war,  so  he  says ;  and  any  law  which 
pretends  to  sanction  it  is  simply  a  fraud.  He  has  been 
sent  by  God  especially  to  proclaim  it." 

"  Every  assassin  says  that  !  "  Allan  cried.  "  But  it 
simply  takes  you  back  to  the  right  of  private  vengeance  — 
it  denies  the  possibility  of  civilization." 

"Just  so  !"  snapped  Lovejoy  —  "at  least  in  conjunction 
with  Slavery." 

"Give  every  man  his  rights,  you  see,"  he  continued, 
after  a  pause.  "Set  him  up  as  a  man  —  and  then  you 
can  require  him  to  keep  laws,  and  decide  things  by  dis- 
cussion. But  until  then,  it's  all  just  a  battle  ;  you've  got 
him  under,  and  he  tries  to  change  it  if  he  sees  a  chance. 
Captain  Brown  can  quote  scripture  to  you  to  prove  it  — 
4  Therefore  thus  saith  the  Lord  :  Ye  have  not  harkened 
unto  me  in  proclaiming  liberty  every  one  to  his  brother, 
and  every  man  to  his  neighbor ;  behold,  I  proclaim  a  lib- 
erty for  you,  saith  the  Lord,  to  the  sword,  to  the  pestilence, 
and  to  the  famine  ! ' : 

There  was  a  flaw  in  that  argument  somewhere,  Allan 


THE   CLIMAX  221 

felt ;  but  he  could  not  find  it  just  then.  "  Who  knows 
about  this  ?  "  he  asked,  finally. 

"  All  sorts  of  people,"  said  Love  joy — "  some  hundreds,  I 
guess." 

"  Where  does  the  money  come  from  ?    Has  Brown  any?  " 

"  Lord,  no  !  The  old  man's  been  out  in  Kansas  cam- 
paigning ;  and  of  course  others  have  had  to  furnish  the 
funds.  There  is  Gerritt  Smith,  the  millionnaire  philan- 
thropist—  he's  given  him  thousands  of  dollars.  And 
there's  a  merchant  in  Boston  by  the  name  of  Stearns,  and  a 
school-teacher  in  Concord  named  Sanborn,  and  Higginson, 
the  preacher,  and  Theodore  Parker." 

"  Theodore  Parker  knows  of  this  !  "  cried  Allan. 

"  Assuredly,"  said  the  other —  "  has  from  the  beginning." 

"  How  long  has  it  been  in  preparation  ?  " 

"  About  two  years  —  this  particular  plan.  It  was  to  have 
been  carried  out  last  year,  but  some  one  betrayed  it.  Then 
we  went  West  again  and  made  a  raid,  and  carried  off 
twelve  slaves  from  Missouri  —  you  doubtless  read  about 
that." 

"  I  did,"  answered  Allan. 

"  The  government  has  a  price  on  his  head,"  said  Love- 
joy.  "  They  are  very  anxious  to  take  him." 

"  Who  are  the  men  that  are  with  him  ?  " 

"  Some  are  his  Kansas  men  ;  half  a  dozen  are  negroes 
he  has  picked  up  here  and  there  ;  there  are  three  of  his 
own  sons,  and  several  more  that  are  his  sons-in-law,  or 
their  brothers.  Brown,  you  know,  is  a  regular  Old  Testa- 
ment patriarch  —  he  has  had  twenty  children,  and  every 
one  of  them  that  is  left  is  as  full  of  the  cause  as  he. 
Some  of  them  have  died  for  it  already." 

"  Where  do  they  live  ?  "  Allan  asked. 

"  Way  up  in  the  wilds  of  the  Adirondacks — such  a  place 
you  never  dreamed  of.  I  was  up  there  last  winter,  and 
met  the  family.  Living  there  just  now  is  the  mother  and 
one  young  son,  three  married  daughters  and  the  wives  of 
two  married  sons,  besides  the  wives  of  two  other  men  who 
are  out  with  Brown  —  brothers  of  one  of  his  daughters-in- 
law." 

is 


222  MANASSAS 

There  was  a  moment's  silence;  then  Lovejoy  went  on: 
"I  think  it  would  pay  a  man  to  go  up  there  to  North  Elba, 
just  to  see  those  eight 'women.  I  have  seen  people  tried 
pretty  often,  but  I  never  in  my  life  saw  any  grit  like  theirs. 
They  are  nearly  all  mere  girls  —  except  the  mother,  I  do  not 
think  there  is  one  of  them  over  twenty  ;  and  they  expect 
any  day  to  lose  everything  in  the  world  they  love — father, 
husbands,  brothers,  friends  ;  and  before  God,  Montague, 
I  don't  think  that  one  of  those  girls  has  ever  shed  a 
tear ! " 

It  was  a  thing  about  which  a  man  might  come  to  twenty 
different  conclusions  in  one  day.  So  many  kinds  of  truth 
there  are  in  the  world,  and  so  many  ways  of  being  right ! 
And  so  hard  it  is  to  keep  the  distinction  between  a  man's 
conscience  and  his  judgment !  And  so  thankless  a  task 
to  subdivide  a  prophet  !  There  was  that  in  this  thing 
which  flashed  upon  Allan  suddenly,  shaming  him  for  all 
the  intricate  framework  of  distinctions  he  had  just  com- 
pleted. He  knew  so  well  the  correct  way  to  do  the  thing 
—  but,  after  all,  how  much  of  it  had  he  done  ?  The  thought 
haunted  him  and  stung  him,  it  stayed  with  him  day  and 
night. 

The  time  passed  on.  Lovejoy  was  gone,  and  Allan 
heard  no  more  of  him.  He  took  to  passing  by  the  bulle- 
tin boards,  and  to  snatching  up  the  paper  in  the  morning. 
August  passed,  September  passed  —  had  they  given  up 
again?  One  day  he  hoped  it,  the  next  day  he  feared  it ;  he 
was  never  quite  the  same.  And  then  one  Sunday  morn- 
ing—  it  was  the  sixteenth  of  October  —  there  came  a  tele- 
gram, unsigned,  with  the  single  word,  "  Come  !  " 

He  obeyed  the  signal  as  if  he  had  been  an  automaton. 
Within  half  an  hour  he  was  on  the  train,  whispering 
to  himself,  "  It  must  be  to-night,"  and  finding  himself 
trembling. 

He  reached  Baltimore  about  midnight.  There  was  no 
train  for  the  West  until  about  six  in  the  morning.  He 
was  obliged  to  wait,  with  such  patience  as  he  could  com- 
mand. He  went  to  a  hotel,  but  he  could  not  sleep  —  he 


THE   CLIMAX  223 

did  not  even  lie  down.  Before  train  time  he  wandered 
up  by  the  office  of  the  American  —  there  was  nothing 
there  to  indicate  any  unusual  excitement.  He  was  on  the 
train  and  nearly  half  an  hour  on  his  way,  before  at  last 
the  thunderbolt  fell.  At  one  of  the  stations  he  heard 
excited  shouts,  and  saw  people  running  this  way  and 
that ;  Allan  sprang  off,  as  did  nearly  every  one  else,  the 
train  men  included.  Then  they  got  the  news  —  there 
was  an  insurrection  of  the  slaves  at  Harper's  Ferry,  and 
reports  of  uprisings  throughout  Virginia  and  Maryland. 
The  government  arsenal  had  been  seized  and  the  arms 
sent  away  to  the  mountains.  The  bridge  was  defended 
with  cannon  —  the  wires  were  down  and  the  tracks  were 
being  destroyed.  Trains  had  been  fired  into,  the  citi- 
zens of  the  town  were  being  massacred,  and  an  appeal 
for  the  militia  of  Baltimore  and  Washington  was  made  ! 

Such  were  the  tidings ;  the  alarm  and  confusion  were 
indescribable — for  some  time  it  seemed  uncertain  whether 
or  not  the  train  would  proceed,  and  when  finally  it  did,  it 
left  a  good  number  of  its  passengers  behind. 

Their  progress  was  slow;  they  stopped  for  news  at 
every  station,  finding  the  depots  more  and  more  crowded, 
the  excitement  more  and  more  intense.  Midway  they 
passed  the  east-bound  train,  which  had  been  stopped  by 
the  insurrectionists  the  night  before,  and  only  just  allowed 
to  proceed.  It  was  after  ten  o'clock  when  they  neared 
Harper's  Ferry. 

The  little  town  lies  on  a  point  of  land  made  by  the 
Shenandoah  River  as  it  runs  into  the  Potomac.  The  rail- 
road runs  up  the  Maryland  side  of  the  river,  crossing  to 
the  town  by  a  long  bridge.  About  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
this  side  of  it  the  train  stopped.  Armed  men  could  be 
seen  ahead.  It  was  in  spite  of  the  protests  of  the  train 
hands  that  Allan  started  toward  them.  They  shouted  to 
him  to  surrender  as  he  came  within  range,  and  he  held  up 
his  hands,  calling  out  that  he  was  a  friend. 

There  were  three  men,  one  of  them  a  negro ;  they  were 
wrapped  in  blankets  —  it  was  cold  and  rainy  —  and  armed 
with  long  "Sharp's  rifles."  They  regarded  him  with 


224  MANASSAS 

suspicion,  which  changed  only  slightly  when  he  said  that 
he  was  a  friend  of  Lovejoy's. 

"  Take  him  to  the  captain,"  said  one  in  command  —  a 
son  of  Brown's,  though  Allan  did  not  then  know  it. 

He  marched  across  the  bridge,  under  the  escort  of  the 
negro.  At  the  other  side  another  armed  man  paced  back 
and  forth  —  a  short  way  up  the  street  was  another.  There 
were  no  other  persons  to  be  seen.  A  few  rods  on  was  the 
iron  gate  of  the  armory  yard  —  as  they  turned  the  corner 
Allan  saw  more  men  here,  and  among  them  old  Brown, 
rifle  in  hand. 

He  recognized  Allan,  and  shook  hands  with  him.  "  It 
is  all  right,"  he  said  to  the  negro.  "  Go  back  to  your 
post." 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  inquired,  "  have  you  concluded  to  help 
us  after  all?  You  see  we  have  been  successful." 

Allan  stared  at  him.  "  Successful !  "  he  cried.  "  How 
long  do  you  expect  to  stay  here  ?  Don't  you  know  that 
the  whole  country  is  on  fire  —  troops  will  be  pouring  in 
here  in  a  few  hours." 

"  Let  them  come,  let  them  come !  "  said  the  old  man. 
"We  are  ready  —  we  have  hostages." 

"  But  how  long  do  you  expect  to  hold  the  town?  When 
are  you  going  to  start  for  the  mountains  ?  " 

"  Not  until  nightfall,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Until  nightfall  !  "  gasped  Allan. 

"  Yes  —  we  must  wait  for  the  slaves  to  come  in." 

The  young  man  stared  in  amazement.  "  I  have  thought 
it  all  over,"  Captain  Brown  went  on  hastily,  "  I  must  stay 
here,  I  cannot  change  my  plan.  The  Lord's  will  must  be 
done." 

Allan  attempted  no  reply.  "  Where  is  Lovejoy  ?  "  he 
inquired,  after  a  pause. 

"  He  is  gone,"  the  other  answered. 

"  Gone  !     Gone  where  ?  " 

"  He  has  deserted  us,  sir.  He  left  about  an  hour  ago  — 
as  soon  as  he  found  that  I  was  resolved  to  stay.  I  was 
very  sorry — but  there  was  no  help  for  it.  I  must  stay  !  " 

The   other   was   helpless   with   wonder.       Old    Brown 


THE   CLIMAX  225 

seemed  to  act  unaccountably  —  as  if  exalted  by  the  ex- 
citement of  the  occasion.  His  eyes  were  flashing  as  he 
turned  here  and  there,  giving  his  orders.  He  spoke 
swiftly  —  eagerly  ;  he  was  the  master  of  the  place,  and 
Allan  noticed  the  almost  childish  delight  which  he  took 
in  his  various  achievements.  He  had  secured  from  one 
of  his  prisoners  a  sword  which  Frederick  the  Great  had 
presented  to  General  Washington  ;  and  it  pleased  him  that 
he  was  wielding  this  in  the  cause  of  the  slave.  He  had 
freed  half  a  dozen  negroes,  and  armed  them  ;  he  stopped 
to  talk  with  them,  fondly,  paternally — as  also  with  some 
of  the  prisoners  who  were  brought  in.  One  pleaded  for 
his  wife  and  children  —  the  old  man  sent  him,  with  one  of 
his  men  for  an  escort,  to  visit  them  and  assure  them  that 
no  harm  was  meant.  "  Do  not  shoot  at  that  man !  "  he 
would  call  to  one  of  his  followers.  "  Don't  you  see  that 
he  is  unarmed  ?  "  Then  again  he  would  go  over  to  where 
his  "  hostages  "  were  cowering,  and  comfort  them,  and 
urge  them  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  a  chance  shot. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  wish  to  do,  sir  ?  "  he  said  at  last, 
turning  to  Allan  again.  "  Will  you  take  one  of  the  rifles  ?" 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  fight,"  Allan  answered. 

"  Then," said  the  old  man,  "perhaps  you  had  best  go  with 
the  prisoners  —  you  will  be  safer  there.  My  son  Oliver 
Brown,  Mr.  Montague.  My  son  Watson,  Mr.  Montague. 
Watson,  take  this  gentleman  —  " 

The  young  fellow  was  in  the  act  of  coming  toward 
Allan,  holding  out  his  hand.  Suddenly  from  one  of  the 
windows  down  the  street  came  a  blaze  of  firearms,  and  he 
pitched  forward  with  a  cry.  At  the  same  instant  another 
of  the  men  fell  dead  — with  a  bullet  in  his  breast. 

"  Fire  !  Drive  them  back  there  ! "  shouted  Brown, 
wildly  ;  and  sprang  toward  his  son. 

The  boy  was  ghastly  white.  "  I'm  done  for,"  he  gasped, 
as  he  strove  to  rise  ;  the  old  man  gathered  him  in  his  arms 
and  carried  him  into  the  building,  his  lips  set  tightly,  his 
face  unmoved. 

The  firing  went  on,  in  a  desultory  way.  Allan,  without 
waiting  for  more,  made  his  way  over  to  a  corner  of  the 


226  MANASSAS 

grounds,  where  were  gathered  all  of  the  prisoners, 
forty  or  fifty  persons,  black  and  white,  old  and  young, 
rich  and  poor.  For  the  most  part  they  were  wild  with 
terror,  expecting  that  they  would  be  put  to  death.  Among 
them  Allan  noticed  an  elderly  gentleman,  tall  and  aristo- 
cratic in  aspect,  Colonel  Lewis  Washington,  from  whose 
plantation  the  precious  sword  had  been  taken.  The 
"  liberators,"  as  they  called  themselves,  had  taken  nothing 
else. 

It  was  not  long  before  there  came  the  sound  of  rapid 
firing  from  the  distance.  It  swelled  to  a  volley,  and  then 
continued  as  an  almost  incessant  rattle  for  several  minutes. 
"  They're  after  them  now  !  "  exclaimed  a  man  to  Allan. 
"  The  soldiers  are  coming  !  " 

Captain  Brown  had  come  out  again,  grave  and  impassive, 
directing  his  men,  who  were  still  keeping  back  the  sharp- 
shooters from  the  windows.  The  distant  firing  seemed  to 
worry  him,  as  well  it  might ;  not  long  after  it  had  died 
down,  a  negro  dashed  into  the  place,  breathless  and 
gasping. 

"They've  captured  the  rifle  works  !  "  he  panted.  "  Every 
one's  killed  !  " 

"  Killed  !"  cried  Brown.     "Who?" 

"Kagi — Leary — all  of  them  !  "  exclaimed  the  man.  — 
"They  drove  them  into  the  river  and  shot  them  there  ! 
They're  killing  Thompson,  too  !  " 

Thompson  was  Brown's  son-in-law ;  the  old  man  put 
his  hand  to  his  forehead.  "  They  have  no  mercy!  "  Allan 
heard  him  murmur. 

The  time  passed  on,  the  firing  still  continuing  here  and 
there.  Allan  could  make  out  from  his  position  that  troops 
were  now  surrounding  the  armory  grounds  ;  he  caught 
sight  of  a  uniform  now  and  then,  but  the  besieged  did  not 
seem  to  notice  it.  Toward  mid  afternoon,  however,  the 
fighting  redoubled  in  fury.  Two  colored  men  were  killed 
by  shots  from  near-by  windows,  and  though  the  little  guard 
still  stuck  by  the  gate,  they  were  able  to  maintain  only  an 
intermittent  fire.  Then  there  came  sounds  of  a  conflict  in 
the  rear.  Several  volleys  were  heard,  and  at  the  same  time 


THE   CLIMAX  227 

bodies  of  troops  began  to  be  seen  deploying  in  front. 
Brown's  other  son,  Oliver,  was  struck  by  a  bullet,  and 
staggered  into  the  building  to  die  ;  so  at  last  it  became 
plain,  even  to  Brown,  that  the  yard  could  not  be  held 
much  longer. 

Within  the  enclosure  was  a  compact  little  stone  build- 
ing, the  engine-house.  To  this  the  old  man  retreated  now, 
with  the  remainder  of  his  men,  and  about  a  dozen  of  his 
"hostages,"  carefully  selected.  He  nodded  to  Allan  to 
make  his  escape  with  the  others,  who  left  the  yard  at 
his  command.  The  troops  outside  were  on  the  watch 
for  them,  and  welcomed  them  with  huzzas.  The  last 
glimpse  that  Allan  ever  had  of  Old  John  Brown  was  as  he 
stood  in  the  engine-house  doorway,  holding  his  dying  son 
in  his  arms. 

The  young  man  had  seen  only  one  side  of  it,  so  far ;  he 
had  not  realized  the  frightful  panic  of  the  town,  or  the 
temper  of  the  besiegers.  Fully  a  thousand  troops,  besides 
numerous  armed  citizens,  were  now  surrounding  the  place. 
As  they  realized  that  the  armory  yard  was  won,  they 
rushed  up,  yelling  like  wild  animals.  A  little  way  down 
the  street  lay  a  huge  mulatto,  writhing  upon  the  ground, 
a  great  gaping  wound  in  his  neck ;  a  crowd  of  men  were 
dancing  about  him,  cursing,  jeering,  screaming.  They 
were  beating  him  with  their  canes,  prodding  him  —  Allan 
saw  one  man  thrusting  a  stick  into  the  gap,  while  the 
crowd  roared  to  see  the  victim  kick.  A  little  farther 
on  lay  another  of  the  band  —  a  white  man,  desperately 
wounded.  He  had  come  out  with  a  flag  of  truce,  and 
been  shot  down.  He  had  five  bullets  in  him  ;  but  men 
were  shouting  for  a  rope  to  hang  him  with. 

The  firing  grew  loud  and  fast ;  they  were  beginning 
an  assault  upon  the  engine-house.  Allan  did  not  wait  to 
learn  the  issue,  but  hurried  away,  sick  at  heart.  He  came 
suddenly  upon  the  hotel  —  and  as  he  approached  the  door 
he  saw  a  crowd  rushing  out.  They  were  young  men,  and 
their  faces  were  white  with  determination  and  rage.  In 
their  midst  was  the  figure  of  a  prisoner,  tightly  bound, 


228  MANASSAS 

held  by  the  arms  and  collar.  His  captors  made  scarcely 
a  sound,  but  rushed  him  down  the  street,  straight  for  the 
railroad  bridge.  Allan  followed,  mechanically. 

They  dragged  him  into  the  centre  of  it  and  stood  him 
against  one  of  the  piers.  Almost  before  the  spectator 
had  realized  what  was  going  on,  there  was  a  crashing 
volley,  and  the  man  toppled  and  dropped  like  a  stone.  He 
fell  to  the  base  of  the  pier  —  fifty  feet,  at  least ;  but  he 
was  still  alive,  and  began  to  crawl  and  kick  himself  along. 
"  Give  it  to  him  again  !  "  yelled  a  voice,  and  once  more 
the  rifle  shots  rang  out.  The  body  splashed  into  the  water, 
and  the  current  swept  it  away. 

The  bridge  was  held  by  troops  now,  and  no  one  allowed 
to  pass.  A  body  of  four  or  five  hundred  militia  were 
just  arriving  from  Maryland,  and  behind  them  Allan 
returned  to  the  hotel.  He  was  swept  here  and  there 
in  the  seething  tumult  of  people.  The  assault  on  the 
engine-house  had  been  repulsed,  and  several  killed ;  they 
were  planning  another  attack  from  the  rear,  but  dark- 
ness fell  before  it  began. 

In  the  night  there  came  the  first  regular  troops,  a  com- 
pany of  United  States  marines,  under  the  command  of  a 
colonel —  a  Virginian,  as  it  happened  —  Robert  E.  Lee  by 
name.  Allan  was  in  the  hotel-corridor  when  he  entered, 
booted  and  gloved,  dressed  as  for  a  parade,  a  tall  and 
stately  personage,  speaking  to  be  obeyed. 

"  How  is  this,  gentlemen  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  came  in, 
addressing  the  militia  officers,  who  had  made  the  place 
their  headquarters.  "  Fifteen  hundred  troops,  and  these 
fellows  have  been  too  much  for  you  all  day  ?" 

"  We  have  not  had  time,  colonel  —  "  began  some  one. 

"  Pshaw,  pshaw  !  "  exclaimed  the  other.  "  Your  men 
have  had  time  to  slaughter  helpless  prisoners  in  the  streets, 
have  they  not  ?  How  many  of  the  outlaws  are  there  left  ?  " 

"  We  have  counted  ten  killed,"  replied  a  voice.  "  There 
cannot  be  more  than  four  or  five  alive  in  the  engine- 
house." 

"  We  shall  soon  settle  it  in   the   morning,"  said   the 


THE   CLIMAX  229 

colonel.  "  The  prisoners  might  be  hurt  if  we  attacked  to- 
night. I  have  ordered  my  men  to  replace  the  guards  about 
the  armory  —  we  will  not  need  any  help.  Lieutenant 
Stuart  !  " 

Several  officers  had  come  in  with  Colonel  Lee.  One  of 
them  stepped  forward  —  a  big,  broad-shouldered  lieutenant 
of  cavalry,  handsome  and  dashing,  with  a  long  brown  beard 
as  glossy  as  silk.  He  was  another  Virginian  —  J.  E.  B. 
Stuart  by  name. 

"  Lieutenant,"  said  the  colonel,  "  please  to  take  a  flag 
and  proceed  to  the  engine-house.  Demand  the  surrender 
of  the  insurgents  —  we  can  give  no  terms  but  protection 
from  violence  and  a  trial  according  to  law.  Otherwise 
tell  them  the  place  will  be  stormed  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  the  lieutenant ;  and  then  he 
added  —  "By  the  way,  colonel,  they  say  the  leader  is 
Ossawatomie  Brown,  that  old  scoundrel  I  once  captured 
out  in  Kansas." 

"  You  should  have  held  on  to  him,  lieutenant,"  said  the 
other,  quietly.  "  We  will  not  let  him  go  this  time,  sir  !  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

TIME  passed  on,  and  they  tried  him,  and  sentenced  him 
to  be  hanged.  The  marines  had  soon  battered  in  the  door 
of  the  engine-house,  and  overwhelmed  the  little  band.  Old 
Brown  had  been  kneeling  in  the  centre  of  the  place,  feeling 
the  pulse  of  his  wounded  son  with  one  hand,  and  clutch- 
ing his  rifle  with  the  other  ;  a  lieutenant  of  marines  had 
leaped  down  upon  him  from  the  engine,  twelve  feet  at  a 
spring,  and  thrust  him  a  blow  with  his  sword  which  had 
struck  him  in  the  belt  and  bent  the  weapon  double.  After- 
ward, as  he  lay  helpless,  the  officer  had  beat  him  over  the 
face  and  head  with  it  —  so  hardly  did  men  think  of  his 
deeds. 

In  the  meantime  Allan  had  gone  back  to  Boston,  where 
he  had  found  Lovejoy,  the  latter  having  made  good  his 
escape,  but  being,  strange  to  say,  not  entirely  content  with 
himself  for  his  superior  wisdom.  The  city  of  Boston  was 
in  a  ferment  —  the  antislavery  people  were  as  if  they  had 
seen  a  ghost,  or  witnessed  a  miracle.  "  There  came  a  sound 
from  heaven  as  of  a  rushing  mighty  wind,  and  it  filled  all 
the  house  where  they  were  sitting.  And  there  appeared 
unto  them  cloven  tongues,  like  as  of  fire,  and  it  sat  upon 
each  one  of  them  !  "  There  was  something  out  of  another 
world,  or  at  least  out  of  another  time,  in  the  faith  of  this 
old  man.  Crowds  had  poured  into  Harper's  Ferry  on  the 
day  of  his  capture ;  and  they  had  stood  around  him,  and 
pestered  him  with  questions  as  he  lay  upon  the  floor,  a 
mass  of  clotted  blood,  with  a  wound  in  the  groin,  and  one 
in  the  breast,  and  four  sabre  cuts  upon  his  head.  Gov- 
ernor Wise  of  Virginia  came  out  lost  in  wonder,  for  he  had 
expected  to  find  a  madman  or  a  ruffian.  "  He  is  a  bundle 
of  the  best  nerves  I  ever  saw  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  He  is  a 
man  of  clear  head,  of  courage  and  fortitude."  And  later 
he  lay  in  a  cell,  loaded  with  chains,  with  two  jailers  on 

230 


THE   CLIMAX  231 

watch  day  and  night,  and  two  thousand  troops  to  guard 
him  :  wounded  horribly,  believed  to  be  dying,  surrounded 
by  the  foes  he  had  assailed,  and  with  a  nation  roaring  for 
his  blood  in  the  background.  "  I  do  not,"  he  wrote,  in  a 
letter,  "  feel  myself  in  the  least  degraded  by  my  imprison- 
ment, my  chains,  or  the  near  prospect  of  the  gallows. 
Men  cannot  imprison,  or  chain,  or  hang  the  soul.  I  would 
not  say  this  boastingly,  but  thanks  be  to  God,  who  giv- 
eth  the  victory  through  infinite  grace."  "  This  new  saint 
awaiting  his  martyrdom  !  "  exclaimed  Emerson  ;  and 
went  on  to  predict  that  he  would  "  make  the  gallows  glo- 
rious like  the  cross."  In  Concord  lived  a  strange  man 
named  Thoreau,  who  had  spent  some  years  in  a  hut  in  the 
woods,  and  had  been  put  in  jail  because  he  would  not  pay 
taxes  to  a  slaveholding  government ;  people  now  crowded 
to  hear  him  as  he  pleaded  for  Brown,  and  compared  him 
in  plain  words  with  Christ. 

In  the  South  men  seemed  beside  themselves  with  rage 
and  terror.  The  fall  in  the  price  of  slaves  which  followed 
upon  the  foray  amounted,  it  was  said,  to  ten  millions  of 
dollars'  loss  ;  and  planters  were  afraid  to  sleep  on  their 
estates  —  within  one  week  five  barns  were  burned  down 
near  Harper's  Ferry,  and  it  was  believed  to  be  the  begin- 
ning of  a  new  insurrection.  The  guards  who  were  watch- 
ing Brown  had  orders  to  shoot  him  dead  if  there  were  any 
attempts  at  rescue  ;  and  one  night  the  sentinels  of  the 
small  army  which  surrounded  the  town  slaughtered  a  stray 
cow  which  approached  their  lines  in  the  darkness  and 
refused  to  give  the  countersign. 

The  legislators  of  South  Carolina,  Missouri,  and  Ken- 
tucky voted  ropes  which  they  prayed  might  be  used  in 
hanging  the  "old  horse-thief"  (as  Senator  Douglas  had 
described  him).  It  was  rumored  that  Governor  Wise  had 
been  so  impressed  with  Brown  that  he  was  thinking  of 
pardoning  him.  "  He  could  never  get  him  out  of  the  town 
alive,"  it  was  said,  "  not  if  he  came  at  the  head  of  a  regi- 
ment !  "  —  "A  felon's  death  !  "  wrote  one  Virginian.  "Al- 
mighty Providence  !  is  man  indeed  so  weak  that  he  can 
inflict  no  more  ?  " 


232  MANASSAS 

There  were  those  who  warned  the  South  that  man  could  not 
inflict  even  this  ;  a  poet  was  not  lacking  to  call  their  atten- 
tion to  the  fact  that "  Ossawatomie  Brown  "  might  "  trouble 
them  more  than  ever  when  they'd  nailed  his  coffin  down  !  " 
But  they  would  not  listen  to  this.  "  He  came  to  incite 
slaves  to  murder  helpless  women  and  children  !  "  cried 
Senator  Davis ;  and  the  Richmond  Whig  thundered  : 
"  Though  it  convert  the  whole  Northern  people,  without 
exception,  into  furious,  armed,  Abolition  invaders,  yet  old 
Brown  will  be  hung  !  The  miserable  old  traitor  and  mur- 
derer belongs  to  the  gallows,  and  the  gallows  will  have  its 
own  ! " 

The  second  of  December  came,  and  they  brought  him 
out  to  die.  Two  thousand  troops  surrounded  the  scaffold, 
and  cannon  guarded  the  roads.  The  government  had 
seized  the  telegraphs,  and  for  days  every  train  that  entered 
the  state  had  been  searched  and  put  under  guard.  It  is 
strange  to  read  all  the  precautions  they  took,  and  think 
how  they  were  baffled  —  how  terribly  old  Brown  was  vin- 
dicated in  his  sentence  that  "men  cannot  imprison,  or 
chain,  or  hang  the  soul  !  "  Even  when  they  were  swinging 
him  off,  he  was  beginning  to  march  ;  during  the  half  hour 
he  hung  kicking  in  the  air,  all  over  the  North  churches 
were  holding  services  of  prayer  —  bells  were  being  tolled, 
and  minute  guns  fired.  In  Concord  a  meeting  was  being 
held  in  the  Town  Hall,  at  which  Emerson,  Thoreau,  and 
Bronson  Alcott  were  speaking  ;  in  the  excitement  of  it  one 
of  the  audience  wrote  a  poem,  and  sprang  up  and  cried  the 
first  stanza  of  it  aloud  :  — 

"  Not  any  spot  six  feet  by  two 
Will  hold  a  man  like  thee ! 
John  Brown  will  tramp  the  shaking  earth, 
From  Blue  Ridge  to  the  sea ! " 

Wherever  there  was  sympathy  with  the  South,  these 
things  were  of  course  read  with  fury.  By  way  of  an  offset 
to  them,  the  President  gave  on  the  same  day  a  state  ban- 
quet to  the  diplomatic  corps  at  Washington  ;  and  when 
the  woman  who  had  been  John  Brown's  wife  started  home 


THE  CLIMAX  233 

with  his  body,  and  wished  to  stop  in  Philadelphia  to  rest 
over  Sunday,  the  mayor  met  her  at  the  depot  and  ordered 
her  on  —  the  city  was  in  such  a  tumult. 

They  took  him  on  to  his  lonely  mountain  home,  where 
stood  old  Whiteface,  not  troubled  by  tumults.  They 
buried  him  there,  and  over  his  grave  they  sang  the  hymn 
with  which  all  his  life  he  had  been  wont  to  lull  his  babies 
to  sleep — "Blow  ye  the  trumpet,  blow  !  "  When  it  was 
over,  Wendell  Phillips,  the  orator  of  Abolition,  rose  up 
and  cried  out  with  the  voice  of  a  prophet :  "He  has  abolished 
Slavery  in  Virginia!  " 


CHAPTER   V 

THE  temper  of  the  times  was  shown  upon  the  assem- 
bling of  the  new  Congress,  three  days  after  the  hanging  of 
Brown.  Previously  to  this  it  is  recorded  that  those  who 
opposed  each  other  in  public  life  had  been  wont  to  meet 
socially  upon  friendly  terms  ;  but  now  feeling  ran  so  high 
that  social  functions  in  Washington  were  difficult  to  arrange. 

In  the  House  the  first  business  was  the  election  of  a 
speaker  ;  the  candidate  of  the  Republicans  chanced  to 
have  indorsed  some  time  before  a  book  published  by  one 
Helper,  a  poor  white  of  North  Carolina  —  u  The  Impend- 
ing Crisis  of  the  South,"  an  argument  against  Slavery 
from  the  standpoint  of  the  non-slaveholding  Southerner. 
A  Kentuckian  now  moved  that  it  was  "  insurrectionary," 
and  that  no  one  who  had  indorsed  it  was  "  fit  to  be  speaker 
of  this  House." 

There  is  an  anecdote  of  another  Kentuckian,  who,  while 
narrating  the  origin  of  a  "  personal  difficulty,"  was  asked, 
"  Did  he  call  you  a  liar  ?  "  and  replied,  "  Worse  than  that  — 
he  proved  it."  The  trouble  with  "The  Impending  Crisis" 
was  the  same  —  what  made  it  so  peculiarly  dangerous  was 
the  fact  that  it  used,  not  statements,  but  statistics.  It  gave 
them  all,  and  they  were  irresistible.  It  pointed  out  the 
fact  that  though  the  area  of  the  slave  States  was  greater 
than  that  of  the  free,  the  farms  of  the  latter  were  worth 
two  billions,  those  of  the  former  only  one  ;  that  the  real 
property  of  the  North  was  over  four  billions,  that  of  the 
South  less  than  three,  half  thereof  being  slaves  ;  that 
the  value  of  the  property  in  eight  slave  States — which  were 
named — was  less  than  that  of  the  State  of  New  York  alone; 
and  that  the  value  of  land  in  New  York  was  $36  an  acre, 
in  North  Carolina  only  $ 3.  The  taxed  property  of  the 
nine  largest  free  cities  of  the  North  was  $754  per  capita, 

234 


THE  CLIMAX  235 

that  for  the  nine  of  the  South  only  $477.  The  imports 
of  the  North  were  nearly  ten  times  those  of  the  South. 
Inquiring  for  whose  benefit  the  South  suffered  such  things 
as  these,  he  showed  that  out  of  a  total  white  population  of 
six  millions  there  were  but  three  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand slaveholders,  and  but  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
who  owned  more  than  five  negroes  apiece.  For  these  the 
system  was  maintained  and  extended,  and  by  them  the 
nation  was  ruled.  Twelve  Presidents  had  been  Southern 
slaveholders,  and  only  six  Northern  non-slaveholders  ; 
moreover,  five  of  the  former  had  served  two  terms — not 
one  of  the  latter.  They  had  always  had  a  majority  of  the 
Supreme  Court,  had  held  the  office  of  Secretary  of  State 
forty  years  out  of  sixty-seven,  and  the  speakership  of  the 
House  twenty-one  times  out  of  thirty-three.  Inquiring 
how  they  did  this — where  their  power  came  from  —  he 
quoted  the  vote  of  "  Five  Points,"  a  New  York  slum,  at 
the  last  election  :  for  Buchanan,  five  hundred  and  seventy- 
four  ;  for  Fremont,  sixteen.  Finally  he  quoted  against 
Slavery  the  testimony  of  Washington,  Jefferson,  Henry, 
Madison,  Monroe,  Randolph,  Clay,  and  Benton. 

The  politicians  of  the  South  never  gave  clearer  evidence 
of  the  nature  of  the  fight  they  were  conducting  than  in 
the  matter  of  this  book.  No  man  could  point  to  a  line  of 
it  that  called  for  anything  but  that  political  action  which 
is  the  right  and  duty  of  every  free  American ;  yet  a  clergy- 
man in  North  Carolina  was  sentenced  to  a  year  in  jail  for 
circulating  it,  and  Helper  himself  was  driven  from  the 
State.  In  the  House  a  representative  from  Virginia  de- 
clared that  "one  who  consciously,  deliberately,  and  of 
purpose  lent  his  name  and  influence  to  the  propagation 
of  such  writings,  is  not  only  not  fit  to  be  speaker,  but  is 
not  fit  to  live." 

It  was  interesting  to  know  what  was  the  result  of  such 
a  course ;  it  was  set  forth  in  an  editorial  in  the  New  York 
Tribune  early  in  January.  "The  orders  flow  in  for  the 
book  from  all  quarters,  in  all  quantities,  from  one  copy 
to  three  hundred  in  a  bunch.  We  do  not  know  how  many 
copies  have  been  ordered,  but  we  have  reason  to  believe 


236  MANASSAS 

the  number  already  exceeds  one  hundred  thousand.  The 
price  is  now  reduced  to  about  eighteen  dollars  a  hundred, 
in  consequence  of  the  extensive  sale.  The  work  goes  every- 
where, through  all  channels,  to  North,  East,  South,  and 
West.  Innocent  bales,  bags,  boxes,  and  barrels  bound 
South  have  each  a  copy  of  Helper  tucked  furtively  away 
in  the  hidden  centre  of  their  contents  —  if  we  go  about  the 
streets  of  this  most  conservative  city,  ten  to  one  we  are 
delayed  at  the  first  crossing  by  a  hand  cart  or  wheelbar- 
row load  of  Helper.  It  is  Helper  at  the  stand,  Helper  on 
the  counter,  Helper  in  the  shop  and  out  of  the  shop,  Helper 
here,  Helper  there,  Helper  everywhere !  " 

Time  and  again  there  was  almost  a  physical  conflict  in 
the  House  of  Representatives.  For  eight  weeks  it  was 
impossible  to  elect  a  speaker,  and  the  body  was  in  con- 
fusion. Virginia,  meanwhile,  was  arming,  knowing  not 
how  widespread  the  John  Brown  conspiracy  might  be. 
"  More  than  fifty  thousand  stand  of  arms  already  dis- 
tributed," wrote  ex-President  Tyler,  "and  the  demand 
for  more  daily  increasing."  —  "I  speak  the  sentiment  of 
every  Democrat  on  this  floor  from  the  State  of  Georgia," 
a  congressman  cried  —  "we  will  never  submit  to  the  elec- 
tion of  a  Black  Republican  President !  "  One  Keitt  of 
South  Carolina,  who  had  mounted  guard  for  Brooks  while 
he  pounded  Sumner,  exclaimed,  "The  South  here  asks 
nothing  but  her  rights ;  but  as  God  is  my  judge,  I  would 
shatter  this  Republic  from  turret  to  foundation  stone 
before  I  would  take  one  tittle  less." 

To  this  Congress  had  come  Owen  Lovejoy  —  "  Parson  " 
Love  joy,  of  the  Princeton  District  of  Illinois — the  brother 
of  the  "  Abolition  martyr,"  and  an  uncle  to  Edward.  He, 
too,  was  soon  in  trouble.  "  Slaveholding  is  worse  than 
robbing,  than  piracy,  than  polygamy  !  "  he  proclaimed. 
"  The  principle  of  enslaving  human  beings  because  they 
are  inferior  is  the  doctrine  of  Democrats,  and  the  doctrine 
of  devils  as  well  —  there  is  no  place  in  the  universe  out- 
side of  the  Five  Points  of  hell  and  the  Democratic  party 
where  the  practice  and  prevalence  of  such  doctrines  would 
not  be  a  disgrace  !  "  Pryor  of  Virginia  leaped  toward 


THE   CLIMAX  237 

him  at  this,  ordering  him  back  to  his  own  seat.  "  It  is  bad 
enough,"  he  cried,  "  to  be  compelled  to  sit  here  and  hear 
him  utter  his  treasonable  and  insulting  language ;  but  he 
shall  not,  sir,  come  upon  this  side  of  the  House,  shaking 
his  fist  in  our  faces ! "  Members  sprang  to  their  feet,  a 
score  or  two  crowding  around  the  men,  shouting,  jostling, 
wild  with  fury.  It  seemed  as  if  a  fight  must  come  at  last 
—  not  a  man  in  the  body  was  without  a  revolver  or  a 
bowie-knife.  The  efforts  of  the  speaker  were  futile. 
"  Order  that  black-hearted  scoundrel  and  nigger-stealing 
thief  to  take  his  seat!"  yelled  Barksdale  of  Mississippi. 
"  An  infamous,  perjured  villain,"  "  a  mean,  despicable 
wretch,"  are  other  of  the  phrases  the  Congressional  Grlobe 
reports  in  this  quarrel.  "  Nobody  can  intimidate  me  !  " 
shouted  Lovejoy.  "  You  shed  the  blood  of  my  brother 
on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  twenty  years  ago,  and  I 
am  here  to-day,  thank  God,  to  vindicate  the  principles 
baptized  in  his  blood !  I  cannot  go  into  a  slave  State 
to  open  my  lips  in  regard  to  the  question  of  Slavery  "  — 
"  No,"  cried  a  Virginia  member,  "  we  would  hang  you 
higher  than  Haman  !  " 

Out  of  this  particular  dispute  came  a  challenge  to  a  duel 
from  the  Virginian,  Pryor  ;  a  congressman  named  Potter 
was  the  victim,  and  he  accepted.  He  had  the  privilege  of 
naming  weapons  —  and  he  chose  bowie-knives.  Needless 
to  say,  the  fight  did  not  come  off. 

Later  on  in  the  spring,  Charles  Sumner  returned  to  the 
conflict.  For  four  years  he  had  borne  his  torture  —  and  it 
would  have  been  strange  if  he  had  not  been  bitter  now. 
His  first  philippic  had  been  "The  Crime  against  Kansas"; 
his  second  dealt  with  "  The  Motive  for  the  Crime,"  which 
was  Slavery.  He  quoted  the  Southern  senators  upon  the 
institution  —  "the  corner-stone  of  our  republican  edifice" — 
"a  great  moral,  social,  and  political  blessing"  —  "the  nor- 
mal condition  of  human  society  "  —  "  ennobling  to  both 
races,  the  white  and  the  black."  And  then  he  gave  the 
title  of  his  speech  —  "THE  BARBARISM  OF  SLAVERY." 
"  Barbarous  in  origin,  barbarous  in  law,  barbarous  in  all  its 
pretensions,  barbarous  in  the  instruments  it  employs,  bar- 

16 


238  MANASSAS 

barous  in  consequences,  barbarous  in  spirit,  barbarous 
wherever  it  shows  itself,  Slavery  must  breed  barbarians, 
while  it  develops  everywhere,  alike  in  the  individual  and 
in  the  society  to  which  it  belongs,  the  essential  elements  of 
Barbarism  !  " 

He  analyzed  the  evils  of  it,  one  by  one  ;  that  it  made 
merchandise  of  the  soul,  that  it  abrogated  marriage  and 
the  parental  relation,  that  it  closed  the  gates  of  knowledge 
to  men  and  deprived  them  of  their  toil.  He  marshalled 
anew  all  the  statistics  of  its  havoc,  —  population,  value  of 
property,  manufactures,  commerce,  railroads,  schools,  col- 
leges, and  public  libraries.  Of  these  last  the  North  had 
nearly  fifteen  thousand  —  the  South  but  seven  hundred. 
He  cited  emigration,  the  press,  literature,  patents.  There 
were  over  twelve  hundred  printers  in  Massachusetts,  in 
South  Carolina  only  a  hundred  and  forty-one  ;  in  three 
years  Massachusetts  had  taken  out  over  thirteen  hundred 
patents,  South  Carolina  only  thirty-nine.  The  white  illit- 
erate in  Massachusetts  was  one  in  four  hundred  and  forty- 
six  ;  in  South  Carolina  he  was  one  in  eight ;  in  North 
Carolina  one  in  three  !  He  pointed  out,  one  by  one,  the 
barbarous  features  of  Southern  society  —  he  quoted  adver- 
tisements from  Southern  newspapers  :  "Run  away — My 
man  Fountain  ;  has  holes  in  his  ears,  a  scar  on  the  right 
side  of  his  forehead  ;  has  been  shot  in  the  hind  part  of  his 
legs ;  is  marked  on  the  back  with  the  whip.  Apply  to  Robert 
Beasley,  Macon,  Georgia."  —  "For  sale — An  accomplished 
and  handsome  lady's  maid.  She  is  just  sixteen  years 
of  age,  was  raised  in  a  genteel  family  of  Maryland,  and 
is  now  proposed  to  be  sold  not  for  any  fault,  but  sim- 
ply because  the  owner  has  no  further  use  for  her."  The 
correspondent  of  the  New  York  Herald  wrote  that  he 
had  no  recollection  in  his  experience,  running  through  a 
period  of  twenty  years,  of  anything  like  the  ominous 
silence  which  prevailed  during  the  delivery  of  this  speech; 
and  four  gentlemen  of  Virginia,  upon  reading  it,  trav- 
elled to  Washington  and  besieged  Sumner's  residence 
for  days,  declaring  their  intention  to  "cut  his  damned 
throat !  " 


THE   CLIMAX  239 

There  were  things  in  the  signs  of  the  times  that  were  yet 
more  ominous.  In  the  South  there  was  now  a  veritable 
reign  of  terror  ;  Southern  papers  were  full  of  accounts  of 
mob  violence,  and  of  the  doings  of  "vigilance  committees." 
The  ministers  of  the  "  Methodist  Church  North "  were 
driven  out  of  Texas.  A  travelling  preacher  brought 
eighty  lashes  upon  the  back  of  himself  and  a  companion 
by  expressing  in  Kentucky  unorthodox  views  as  to  the 
relative  duties  of  master  and  slave.  In  Columbia,  South 
Carolina,  a  young  Irish  laborer  was  tarred  and  feathered 
for  venturing  the  opinion  that  Slavery  degraded  white  la- 
bor ;  and  from  Kentucky  three  old-time  colonies  of  free- 
labor  settlers  were  turned  out  bag  and  baggage.  James 
Monroe,  when  minister  to  England,  had  given  the  pass- 
ports of  an  American  citizen  to  a  negro  slave  of  John  Ran- 
dolph's ;  a  senator  from  Massachusetts  was  now  unable 
to  obtain  them  for  a  free  colored  man,  a  physician  of  his 
State.  The  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  furthermore  decided 
that  a  negro  could  not  command  a  vessel  sailing  under 
United  States  papers,  even  if  the  vessel  were  his  own. 

And  these  things  were  done  upon  the  eve  of  a  presi- 
dential election  —  a  time  when  the  utmost  circumspection 
is  to  be  expected  from  politicians  —  when  words  and  meas- 
ures are  weighed  to  the  smallest  grain  !  Men  saw  the 
Southern  leaders  stalking  through  the  legislative  halls, 
haughty  and  reckless,  flinging  caution  to  the  winds. 
Masters  of  the  trade  of  politics  as  they  were  —  could  it  be 
that  they  did  not  realize  what  they  were  doing,  that  they 
were  squandering  political  power  they  had  been  a  genera- 
tion in  acquiring,  that  they  were  giving  up  every  advan- 
tage that  their  strategy  and  audacity  had  ever  won  them  ? 
Could  it  be  that  they  did  not  realize  the  madness  of  the 
quarrel  with  Douglas,  who  had  done  more  than  any  living 
man  to  keep  the  Northern  Democracy  subject  to  their 
bidding  ?  Or  was  it — a  possibility  so  dreadful  that 
men  scarcely  dared  to  face  it  —  that  they  knew  full 
well  what  they  were  doing,  that  they  were  bent  upon 
wrecking  the  party  —  that  they  were  going  to  scuttle  the 
ship  ! 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE  time  came  for  the  parties  to  make  their  nomina- 
tions. Never  before  had  political  excitement  been  so 
intense,  never  had  so  much  depended  upon  the  actions  of 
conventions.  In  the  Democratic  convention  the  great 
quarrel  in  the  party  must  come  to  a  head,  and  discerning 
men  perceived  that  the  issue  of  it  must  shape  the  history 
of  the  country  to  the  remotest  times. 

The  convention  was  to  be  held  in  Charleston,  the 
stronghold  of  the  slave  power  ;  and  thither,  the  last  week 
in  April,  1860,  came  the  Democratic  politicians  of  the 
four  quarters  of  the  Union.  It  was  a  period  of  "hard 
times"  in  the  Northwest  —  the  Douglas  men  came  out 
of  a  land  of  famine  into  one  of  plenty.  The  South  had 
never  been  more  prosperous  ;  and  here  upon  the  Battery 
driveway  of  Charleston  city  one  might  see  the  distilled 
essence  of  all  its  luxury  and  fashion.  Most  of  the  North- 
ern delegates  had  now  their  first  chance  to  make  actual 
acquaintance  with  the  thing  for  which  they  had  been 
battling  all  their  days  ;  it  is  recorded  that  one  of  them, 
wandering  into  a  slave  auction  room,  was  shown  a  pretty 
mulatto  girl,  euphemistically  described  as  a  "sempstress," 
whom  he  might  have  for  fifteen  hundred  dollars.  The 
delegate  came  away,  swearing  softly  to  himself. 

" Dinna  hear  the  slogan?  'Tis  Douglas  and  his  men  !  " 
They  hired  a  hall,  and  upstairs  were  hundreds  of  cots 
where  they  slept ;  each  delegation  had  its  private  barrel 
of  whiskey,  we  were  told  —  so  doubtless  they  slept 
soundly.  Their  consultation  rooms  were  at  the  "  Mills 
Hotel,"  and  here,  in  the  crowded  corridors,  filled  with 
clouds  of  tobacco  smoke,  they  toiled  and  perspired  and 
fought.  The  correspondent  of  a  Cincinnati  paper  de- 
scribes one  "For  God's  sake  Linder,"  making  a  stump 

240 


THE   CLIMAX  ,  241 

speech,  frantic  with  excitement.  "  For  God's  sake,  Linder, 
come  down  here,  I  need  help,"  Douglas  had  telegraphed 
from  some  convention  ;  and  the  telegram  had  leaked  out, 
and  the  name  stuck. 

At  the  "Charleston  House"  were  the  "fire-eaters";  of 
these  the  leader  was  one  whom  we  know  well,  but  he  did 
not  mingle  in  crowds.  In  the  crowds,  however,  was 
Barksdale  of  Mississippi,  the  congressman  who  had  de- 
scribed "  Parson "  Lovejoy  as  an  "  infamous,  perjured 
villain."  "He  has  a  way  of  throwing  his  head  on  one 
side,"  writes  the  correspondent,  "  and  turning  up  his  chin, 
and  talking  in  a  short,  sharp  way,  like  a  4  Bowery  boy.' 
He  is  thick-set,  broad-shouldered,  and  short-legged.  His 
eye  is  small  and  fierce.  The  whole  country  knows  that  he 
wears  a  wig  —  for  Potter  of  Wisconsin  knocked  it  off 
once  upon  a  time.  But  as  for  a  duel  —  beware  of  meeting 
Barksdale  with  the  bowie-knife !  He  knows  how  to 
handle  the  instrument,  and  has  handled  it."  Here,  too, 
might  be  seen  a  gentleman  with  a  "  red  cherry  face,"  and 
"  long,  thin,  white  hair,  through  which  the  top  of  his  head 
blushes  like  the  shield  of  a  boiled  lobster.  He  is  a  New 
Yorker  by  birth,  but  has  made  a  princely  fortune  at  the 
New  Orleans  bar.  It  is  universally  known  that  he  is,  with 
the  present  administration,  the  power  behind  the  throne 
greater  than  the  throne  itself.  Mr.  Buchanan  is  as  wax 
in  his  fingers.  The  name  of  this  gentleman  is  John  Sli- 
dell.  His  special  mission  here  is  to  see  that  Stephen  A. 
Douglas  is  not  nominated  for  the  presidency." 

The  convention  met  and  organized,  and  Caleb  Gushing 
was  made  chairman — an  old-time  Massachusetts  politician, 
whom  the  poet  Whittier  had  labored  long  ago  to  keep  in 
Congress  to  do  antislavery  work.  He  had  wandered  far 
afield  since  then.  "  Ours,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  in  his 
rousing  speech,  "  is  the  motto  inscribed  on  that  scroll  in 
the  hands  of  the  monumental  statue  of  the  great  states- 
man of  South  Carolina, 4  Truth,  Justice,  and  the  Constitu- 
tion.' (Loud  cheers.)  Opposed  to  us  are  all  those  who 
labor  to  overthrow  the  Constitution,  under  the  false  and 
insidious  pretence  of  upholding  it ;  who  are  aiming  to  pro- 


242  MANASSAS 

duce  in  this  country  a  permanent  sectional  conspiracy,  a 
traitorous  sectional  conspiracy,  of  one-half  the  States  of 
the  Union  against  the  other  half.  Those,  the  branded 
enemies  of  the  Constitution,  it  is  the  part,  the  high  and 
noble  part,  of  the  Democratic  party  of  the  land  to  with- 
stand ;  to  strike  down  and  to  conquer  !  Aye,  that  is  our 
part,  and  we  will  do  it !  In  the  name  of  our  dear  country, 
and  with  the  help  of  God,  we  will  do  it !  "  (Loud  cheers.) 

There  seemed  to  be  some  slight  uncertainty  upon  the 
part  of  God.  No  sooner  was  the  convention  ready  for 
business  than  the  "irrepressible  conflict"  broke  out. 
The  convention  was  deluged  with  resolutions  and  fiery 
speeches.  The  issue  was  simple  —  frightfully  simple. 
The  political  existence  of  the  Douglas  men  depended 
upon  their  being  able  to  come  before  the  North  with 
a  platform  which  could  be  construed  as  a  reaffirmation 
of  "popular  sovereignty."  Upon  this  particular  point  the 
platform  of  the  party  adopted  at  Cincinnati  four  years 
before  had  been  carefully  ambiguous.  All  that  they 
asked  now  was  that  this  careful  ambiguity  might  be 
retained;  but  this  the  Southerners  would  by  no  means 
grant.  It  was  for  this  that  they  had  come  to  the  conven- 
tion—  to  secure  an  express  repudiation  of  the  "popular 
sovereignty  heresy,"  and  a  declaration  for  congressional 
protection  of  Slavery.  The  Douglas  men  were  in  a 
majority,  and  so  they  might  easily  have  their  will ;  but  if 
they  did  so,  the  Southern  delegates  would  leave  the  con- 
vention—  the  party  would  break  in  half. 

The  Northerners  were  frantic  in  their  dismay  ;  they 
found  that  all  the  usual  convention  methods  were  futile. 
They  had  money  to  spend,  and  a  hundred  million  dollars 
a  year  in  Federal  patronage  to  pledge.  But  it  was  of  no 
avail.  It  is  said  that  they  promised  every  office  in  their 
gift  ten  times  over  —  "  foreign  missions,  collectorships, 
indeed,  all  the  offices  within  the  gift  of  the  President,  are 
the  currency  here,"  wrote  one.  But  it  was  of  no  avail. 
The  "Committee  on  Platform  "  presented  two  reports.  One 
referred  the  question  to  the  Supreme  Court,  which  was  a 
way  of  being  ambiguous  ;  the  other  promised  protection 


THE   CLIMAX  243 

to  "property,"  not  only  in  the  territories,  but  "  upon  the 
high  seas  "  —  which  meant  recognition  of  the  African  slave 
trade. 

Several  speeches,  pro  and  con,  were  made,  with  bickering 
and  bitter  recrimination.  Then  suddenly  a  hush  fell  upon 
the  convention.  A  delegate  had  arisen,  and  was  coming 
to  the  platform  —  it  was  William  Lowndes  Yancey  ! 

The  hour  of  Yancey 's  lifetime  was  come.  For  twenty- 
seven  years  he  had  toiled  and  battled,  with  tongue  and 
pen,  at  public  meetings,  at  political  conventions,  at  legisla- 
tive caucuses  ;  in  spite  of  obloquy,  in  spite  of  ridicule,  — 
warning,  imploring,  exhorting.  And  now  at  last  his  every 
statement  had  been  verified,  his  every  prediction  come 
true,  his  every  measure  adopted  !  They  were  here  from 
Virginia  to  Texas  to  support  him  —  the  whole  power  of 
the  South  behind  them,  the  South  as  he  had  dreamed  it, 
awakened,  aggressive,  alert  !  The  South  arisen,  gone  forth 
to  meet  her  foes,  girding  on  her  sword  as  she  went !  Was 
it  any  wonder  that  when  they  saw  him  they  bounded  to 
their  feet  with  a  roar  ?  The  volleys  of  their  cheering 
rolled  through  the  hall  in  deafening  billows  of  sound  ;  and 
outside,  the  city  listened,  knowing  that  Yancey  had  come. 

For  an  hour  and  a  half  he  held  them  spell-bound  by  the 
torrents  of  his  eloquence.  For  the  first  time  now  in  his 
whole  life  he  spoke  no  longer  to  the  South  —  his  work 
with  the  South  was  done,  and  he  turned  to  face  the 
enemy.  He  went  to  the  roots  of  things  as  he  always  did ; 
he  told  them  what  was  the  cause  of  all  their  trouble  —  that 
they  had  never  come  upon  the  high  ground  which  the  South 
demanded — that  they  had  never  asserted  that  Slavery  was 
right !  "  If  you  had  taken  the  position  that  Slavery  was 
right  and  therefore  ought  to  be,  you  would  have  triumphed," 
was  the  burden  of  his  great  oration.  "  But  you  have  gone 
down  before  the  enemy,  so  that  they  have  put  their  foot 
upon  your  neck  !  When  I  was  a  schoolboy  in  the  North- 
ern States,  Abolitionists  were  pelted  with  rotten  eggs  ! 
But  now  this  band  of  Abolitionists  has  spread  and  grown 
into  three  bands,  —  the  Black  Republican,  the  Free-soilers, 


244  MANASSAS 

and  the  Squatter-sovereignty  men  —  all  representing  the 
common  sentiment  that  Slavery  is  wrong  !  " 

There  were  two  days  of  arguing  and  expostulating  ; 
then  the  Northern  platform  was  adopted  —  and  one  by  one 
the  Southern  delegations  withdrew  from  the  convention. 
Glenn  of  Mississippi  mounted  a  chair,  his  face  ashen  gray, 
his  eyes  glaring  in  a  frenzy  of  passion.  For  twenty  minutes 
he  spoke,  and  he  brought  the  Southern  delegates  to  their 
feet,  wild  with  excitement.  "  Go  your  way,"  he  shouted, 
—  "we  will  go  ours!  The  South  leaves  you — but  not 
like  Hagar,  driven  into  the  wilderness,  friendless  and  alone! 
I  tell  Southern  men  here,  and,  for  them,  I  tell  the  North, 
that  in  less  than  sixty  days  you  will  find  a  united  South 
standing  side  by  side  with  us  !  " 

So  they  went  out,  seven  States  in  all ;  but  there  were  some 
for  whom  even  this  was  not  enough,  and  one  of  them  arose 
the  next  day  and  explained  his  point  of  view,  which  was 
that  the  doctrine  of  protection  to  Slavery  in  the  territories 
was  "a  mere  abstraction."  "You  have  cut  off  the  sup- 
ply of  slaves,"  he  said  ;  "  you  have  crippled  the  institution 
of  Slavery  in  the  States  by  your  unjust  laws.  I  would  ask 
our  Northern  friends  to  give  us  all  our  rights,  and  take  off 
the  ruthless  restrictions  which  cut  off  the  supply  of  slaves 
from  foreign  lands.  I  tell  you,  fellow-Democrats,  that  the 
African  slave  trader  is  the  true  Union  man  !  (Cheers  and 
laughter.)  Gentlemen,  we  are  told  upon  high  authority 
that  there  is  a  certain  class  of  men  who  '  strain  at  a  gnat 
and  swallow  a  camel.'  Now  Virginia,  which  authorizes 
the  buying  of  Christian  men,  separating  them  from  their 
wives  and  children,  from  the  relations  and  associations 
amid  which  they  have  lived  for  years,  rolls  up  her  eyes  in 
holy  horror  when  I  would  go  to  Africa  to  buy  a  savage, 
and  introduce  him  to  the  blessings  of  civilization  and 
Christianity.  If  any  of  you  Northern  Democrats  will  go 
home  with  me  to  my  plantation  in  Georgia,  but  a  little 
way  from  here,  I  will  show  you  some  darkeys  I  bought  in 
Maryland,  and  some  that  I  bought  in  Virginia,  some  in 
Delaware,  some  in  North  Carolina,  some  in  Florida ;  and 


THE   CLIMAX  245 

I  will  also  show  you  the  pure  African,  the  noblest  Roman 
of  them  all!" 

With  this  in  their  ears,  the  delegates  went  home  — 
having  adjourned  their  convention  to  await  the  action 
of  the  Republicans  at  Chicago,  where  all  men  now  saw 
clearly  that  the  next  President  of  the  Republic  must  be 
named. 

For  the  Republican  convention  there  had  been  constructed 
an  enormous  "wigwam,"  a  wooden  building  capable  of  seat- 
ing ten  thousand  persons.  The  new  city  of  Chicago  had 
at  that  time  one  hundred  thousand  inhabitants,  but  during 
the  convention  it  had  a  third  as  many  again.  Never  be- 
fore had  such  crowds  been  seen,  never  such  an  uproar. 
The  Republican  party  was  no  longer  in  the  hands  of  en- 
thusiasts —  it  was  grown  up,  and  on  the  way  to  power,  and 
the  office-seekers  and  wire-pullers  were  thronging  to  it  in 
force.  The  Seward  workers  had  come  by  the  thousands, 
decorated  with  badges  and  led  by  a  uniformed  band  ;  they 
had  barrels  of  money  to  spend,  it  was  said,  and  at  their 
headquarters  champagne  was  as  free  as  water.  Their 
delegation  was  a  strange  one  —  it  included  a  gang  under 
the  command  of  "  Tom  Hyer,"  a  prize-fighter  —  and  also 
George  William  Curtis,  the  author. 

The  chances  were  all  with  the  great  New  York  senator. 
For  years  he  had  been  the  chief  man  of  the  party.  He 
was  a  statesman  of  intellect;  he  was  popular  with  the 
people ;  and  he  had  not  been  too  fastidious  to  be  popular 
with  the  politicians.  The  trouble  was  with  the  doubtful 
states,  which  feared  him  because  of  his  very  prominence. 
He  had  been  the  leader  of  the  antislavery  agitation ;  and 
people  were  afraid  of  his  "  higher  law  doctrine,"  as  it  was 
called  —  by  which  a  man  was  held  not  bound  to  return 
fugitive  slaves.  Could  not  some  one  be  found  equally  ac- 
ceptable to  the  East,  but  less  conspicuously  radical  than  he  ? 

Out  in  Chicago  the  people  had  one  to  offer ;  from  all 
over  the  State  they  swarmed  to  yell  for  him,  and  to  lead 
them  they  hired  a  man  whose  voice  they  declared  could 


246  MANASSAS 

be  heard  above  any  tempest  that  had  ever  raged  on  Lake 
Michigan.  Also  they  had  decorated  the  city  here  and 
there  with  fence  rails  which  their  candidate  had  split  — 
there  were  three  thousand  of  them,  it  was  said,  down  in 
the  Sangamon  bottom.  "  Honest  Abe,"  they  called  him, 
and  his  friends  loved  him  wonderfully,  and  were  working 
for  him  like  fiends. 

He  had  allies  in  the  East,  also  —  a  mighty  one  in  Horace 
Greeley,  who  was  at  odds  with  Seward,  and  trying  to  beat 
him.  The  great  editor  was  one  of  the  sights  of  the  con- 
vention—  the  crowds  flocked  round  him  everywhere  he 
turned  ;  he  was  sublimely  unconscious  of  it  all,  having  the 
blessed  gift  of  absent-mindedness.  Queer  stories  were 
told  of  this  faculty  of  his  —  how  once  in  company  the 
hostess,  seeing  that  he  could  not  be  stopped  in  his  dis- 
coursing, and  wearying  of  offering  him  refreshments,  put 
the  plate  of  doughnuts  into  his  hands,  hoping  that  he 
might  eat  one.  He  did  so,  without  ceasing  his  talk  —  he 
ate  them  all,  to  the  consternation  of  the  company. 

Twenty  thousand  people  could  not  get  into  the  "  wig- 
wam "  when  the  convention  assembled.  Upstairs  the 
galleries  were  reserved  for  "  gentlemen  accompanied  by 
ladies  "  ;  and  frantic  was  the  search  for  ladies  that  resulted. 
"  Schoolgirls  were  found  in  the  street,"  records  a  corre- 
spondent, "  and  given  a  quarter  each  to  see  a  gentleman 
in."  One  of  the  Seward  "irrepressibles"  —  so  they  called 
themselves  —  subsidized  an  Irish  washerwoman,  with  a 
bundle  under  her  arms  ;  and  yet  another  tried  to  run  the 
gantlet  with  an  Indian  squaw,  whom  he  had  found  sell- 
ing moccasins  upon  the  street.  At  this,  however,  it  is 
recorded  that  the  authorities  demurred.  There  was  a 
vehement  debate  —  as  to  whether  or  not  a  squaw  was  a 
lady.  It  was  finally  decided  that  she  was  not,  and  the 
applicant  went  away  lamenting  the  fact  that  the  Republi- 
can party  was  fallen  from  its  high  estate. 

On  the  evening  of  the  second  day  all  things  pointed  to 
Seward.  The  balloting  began  the  next  morning,  and  the 
country  was  told  that  his  nomination  was  sure.  But 


THE   CLIMAX  247 

through  the  night,  while  processions  were  yelling  and 
bands  serenading,  the  delegations  were  consulting,  and  the 
Lincoln  men  were  working  like  mad  —  threatening,  cajol- 
ing, imploring.  The  Seward  leaders  had  ceased  work, 
counting  the  battle  won  —  when  Lincoln's  managers  stole 
away  the  delegations  of  Indiana  and  Pennsylvania  by 
promises  of  two  cabinet  positions  for  their  members.  In 
this  they  disobeyed  the  orders  of  their  chief — but  he 
thought  best  to  keep  the  promise  all  the  same ! 

A  breathless  silence  prevailed  while  the  roll  was  called 
in  the  morning.  A  majority  was  necessary.  At  the  first 
ballot  Seward  had  173J  and  Lincoln  102  —  233  being 
necessary  to  a  choice.  'k  Call  the  roll ! "  shouted  the  dele- 
gates, wild  with  excitement ;  and  upon  the  second  ballot 
Vermont  came  over  to  Lincoln  —  and  then  the  Pennsyl- 
vania vote  was  delivered,  counting  44.  The  Seward  men 
turned  white.  The  total  was  Seward  184J,  and  Lincoln 
181.  The  moment  was  intensely  dramatic  —  the  house  was 
as  still  as  death.  Every  man  was  keeping  count  for  him- 
self ;  and  when  at  the  end  of  the  third  balloting  it  was 
seen  that  Lincoln  was  nominated  by  two  votes,  a  yell 
burst  forth  which  caused  hundreds  to  stop  their  ears  in 
pain.  A  man  upon  the  roof  signalled  the  news  to  the 
countless  thousands  outside ;  and  after  that  the  cannon 
which  were  fired  upon  the  roof  could  not  be  heard. 

To  Boston  —  to  Allan  Montague,  and  to  all  with  whom 
he  talked — the  tidings  of  this  nomination  came  as  a  shock, 
causing  dismay,  almost  despair.  It  was  but  one  demon- 
stration more  of  the  weakness  of  a  political  system  which 
inevitably  passed  over  the  leader,  the  man  of  power,  for 
some  colorless  individual  who  had  not  frightened  the  dull 
and  cowardly  by  too  deep  love  of  the  truth.  For  a  score 
of  years  and  more  the  mighty  Seward  had  been  fighting 
this  battle  of  freedom  ;  and  now  at  last,  when  victory  was 
in  sight,  to  fall  back  on  the  argument  that  your  candidate 
had  split  rails !  Four  years  had  Seward  been  a  governor 
and  ten  a  senator  ;  and  now  his  party  had  deposed  him 
and  chosen  one  whom  the  enemy  could  call  —  as  did  the 


248  MANASSAS 

New  York  Herald  —  "  an  uneducated  man,  a  mere  vulgar 
village  politician." 

Of  course,  however,  none  of  these  things  could  be  said 
in  public  ;  there  was  nothing  for  the  East  to  do  but  to  put 
on  a  brave  face  and  get  to  work.  The  senator  himself, 
swallowing  his  chagrin,  toured  the  country  in  his  rival's 
support,  delivering  a  series  of  magnificent  speeches.  And 
he  was  only  one  among  thousands.  It  was  the  last  effort 
of  the  long,  weary  contest  to  tear  the  government  of  the 
country  out  of  the  hands  of  the  slave  power.  — "  We 
judge,"  wrote  Horace  Greeley,  "that  the  number  of 
speeches  made  during  the  recent  campaign  has  been  quite 
equal  to  that  of  all  that  were  made  in  the  previous  presi- 
dential canvasses  from  1789  to  1856,  inclusive." 

The  scent  of  victory  was  in  the  air  —  the  enemy  was 
disorganized  and  in  despair.  The  Charleston  convention 
had  reassembled  at  Baltimore,  and  had  nominated  Doug- 
las ;  the  seceding  delegates  had  thereupon  put  forth  a  ticket 
of  their  own,  with  a  declaration  for  congressional  protec- 
tion of  Slavery. 

The  young  Republicans  organized  themselves  as  "  Wide- 
awakes," and  they  marched  in  grand  processions  of  twenty 
and  thirty  thousand,  wearing  caps  and  capes,  carrying 
torches,  singing  songs,  and  shouting  for  "  Lincoln  and 
Hamlin."  In  Boston  there  was  formed  a  regiment  of 
"rail-splitters,"  all  six-feet-two  in  height ;  they  bore  trans- 
parencies upon  which  was  exhibited  the  fact  that  their 
ticket  had  been  providentially  determined  :  ABRA-HAM- 
LIN-COLN.  At  the  South  men  read  of  these  things 
with  execration ;  "  the  fanatical  diabolical  Republican 
party"  they  called  it  in  one  campaign  document.  The 
head  of  the  ticket,  having  been  born  in  Kentucky,  was 
known  as  "the  Southern  renegade  ";  also  they  called  him 
the  "human  baboon"  and  the  "man-ape,"  which  would 
seem  to  be  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  the  rhetoric  of  disappro- 
bation. The  nominee  for  Vice-President,  the  governor 
of  Maine,  chanced  to  be  a  man  of  dark  complexion,  and 
on  the  stump  it  was  freely  asserted  that  he  was  a  mulatto. 

"  Lincoln  will  be  elected,"  declared  Mr.  Stephens,  in  a 


THE   CLIMAX  249 

newspaper  interview,  "  and  the  result  will  undoubtedly 
be  an  attempt  at  secession  and  revolution."  The  governor 
of  South  Carolina  had  already  sent  letters  to  the  governors 
of  the  other  "  cotton  States  "  proposing  cooperation  ;  and 
on  the  day  before  election  day  he  sent  a  message  to  his 
legislature  advising  secession  and  threatening  war  —  rec- 
ommending among  other  things  the  preparing  of  a  force 
of  ten  thousand  volunteers,  and  the  arming  of  "  every 
white  man  in  the  State  between  the  ages  of  eighteen  and 
forty-five."  The  North  read  of  these  proceedings,  and 
could  not  believe  what  they  meant.  "  Who's  afraid  ?  " 
cried  Seward,  laughing ;  and  answered,  "Nobody's  afraid! " 

So  they  talked  also  in  Boston.  Allan  discussed  it  one 
night  with  his  cousin  Jack,  chancing  to  meet  him  coming 
home  from  the  armory.  Jack  Otis  was  now  in  his  second 
year  at  the  Law  School,  and  had  just  been  chosen  a  lieu- 
tenant in  the  Massachusetts  Fifth.  He  was  on  his  way 
home  from  drill,  resplendent  in  a  new  uniform  and  with 
a  silver-mounted  sword  presented  by  a  college  fraternity. 

"It's  too  old  a  story,"  he  said.  "Why,  Allan,  they 
have  carried  elections  with  it  ever  since  you  and  I  were 
children!  How  long  do  they  suppose  they  can  keep  it 
up?" 

"  But  they  mean  it,  Jack  ! "  Allan  answered.  "  They 
always  did  mean  it,  and  they  mean  it  this  time  more  than 
ever." 

"I've  no  doubt  they  think  they  do,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Wait  until  we've  called  the  bluff,  and  see !  " 

"  You  think  they'll  give  in  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Jack.  "  So  does  every  one.  So  long  as 
it's  only  talk,  the  fire-eaters  have  it  all  their  own  way  ; 
but  don't  you  suppose  that  when  it  comes  to  action,  there'll 
be  some  men  with  common  sense  to  be  heard  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  knew  the  people  as  I  do,"  Allan  remarked. 

"  You  know  one  family  of  millionnaire  aristocrats,"  was 
his  cousin's  retort,  "  and  you  call  that  knowing  the  South!  " 
Jack  paused  a  moment,  and  then  went  on,  —  "  They  may 
try  to,  I  grant  you ;  but  what  I  say  is  they  will  be 


250  MANASSAS 

stopped  very  quickly.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  think 
that  any  crowd  of  slaveholding  politicians  can  wreck  this 
government  without  any  one's  lifting  a  hand  ?  " 

"  Will  you  help  ?  "  the  other  inquired. 

And  Jack  hesitated  a  moment,  then  broke  into  a  laugh. 
"  I  promised  the  governor  I'd  see  this  law  grind  through," 
he  said,  "  but,  Lord,  how  I  hate  it !  And  just  imagine 
me  refusing  to  go  South  on  a  picnic  party,  at  the  pleasant- 
est  time  of  the  year  !  " 

"  There  might  be  fighting,"  suggested  Allan. 

"  There  wouldn't  be  much,  I  fear  —  not  enough  for  me. 
God  knows  I'd  agree  to  let  them  tie  me  up  and  whip  me, 
if  they'd  only  hold  out  till  after  exams  I  " 

There  was  no  use  trying  to  get  Jack  Otis  to  take  any- 
thing seriously,  and  Allan  made  no  reply  ;  but  he  had  a 
picture  in  his  mind  of  his  cousin  Randolph  —  and  of  the 
debonair  Massachusetts  lieutenant,  with  his  silver-mounted 
sword,  marching  into  Wilkinson  County  on  a  picnic  party ! 

All  things  in  life  had  been  of  the  picnic  order  to  Jack  — 
and  to  most  of  his  regiment,  in  fact.  Theirs  was  one  of 
the  "  crack  "  organizations  of  the  state  militia,  and  most 
of  the  officers  were  rich  young  society  fellows  —  college 
boys,  whose  ideas  of  military  duty  were  connected  with 
dress  parades  and  cotillons.  Every  one  of  its  companies 
had  its  own  uniform,  and  a  gorgeous  one  ;  they  owned 
their  armory,  and  elected  their  officers,  and  had  their  own 
way  in  general.  But  their  Saturday  night  drills  were 
things  to  be  seen  ;  and  when  the  files  emerged  triumphant 
from  some  impossible  evolution,  and  the  girls  waved  their 
flags  and  cheered,  the  officers'  hearts  beat  high,  and  rebel- 
lion seemed  a  hazardous  adventure. 

Gay  and  full  of  spirits,  open-hearted,  and  affectionate, 
Allan's  golden-haired  and  handsome  cousin  was  the  life  of 
one  of  these  companies.  They  had  made  him  a  lieutenant, 
and  when  it  came  to  a  dance  or  to  private  theatricals,  he 
was  a  captain  by  brevet.  It  was  very  much  to  the  detri- 
ment of  his  studies,  as  his  father  saw  with  dismay;  but 
Jack,  who  was  both  a  little  dissipated  and  still  more 
extravagant,  was  hopelessly  cheerful  and  clever,  and  as  im- 


THE   CLIMAX  251 

pervious  to  rebuke  as  a  duck  to  rain.  Jack  regarded  with 
disapproval  his  cousin's  serious  views  of  life  ;  and  when- 
ever Allan  ventured  his  idea  of  what  it  would  mean  to 
put  down  the  insubordination  of  the  South,  and  his  opinion 
that  the  doings  of  the  "  Cambridge  Tigers  "  —  so  the  com- 
pany was  called  —  was  not  at  all  adequate  training  for  the 
work,  Jack  would  merely  inquire  maliciously  in  what 
respect  the  other's  preparations  were  better. 

And  so  came  election  day,  and  Abraham  Lincoln  re- 
ceived one  hundred  and  eighty  out  of  three  hundred  and 
three  electoral  votes,  and  carried  every  free  State  save 
New  Jersey.  And  in  the  next  morning's  papers,  along 
with  the  wonderful  tidings,  came  a  strange  report  of  ex- 
citement in  Charleston  —  of  frantic  crowds  on  the  streets, 
of  bonfires,  cannon,  processions,  serenades,  and  stump 
speeches.  A  United  States  senator  had  stood  in  the  win- 
dow of  a  hotel  and  harangued  a  howling  mob  —  bidding 
them  "unfurl  the  palmetto  flag."  "Fling  it  to  the 
breeze  !  "  he  had  shouted,  "  and  ring  the  clarion  notes  of 
defiance  in  the  ears  of  an  insolent  foe  1 " 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE  victory  was  won  ;  but  "  Wideawake  "  processions 
melted  quickly,  and  Republican  enthusiasm  fell  silent,  in 
the  face  of  this  news.  The  excitement  continued ;  the 
day  after  election  business  in  Charleston  was  suspended, 
and  everywhere  to  be  seen  were  "lone-star  flags"  and 
"palmetto  cockades."  Impossible  of  belief,  the  judge  of 
the  United  States  District  Court  and  the  United  States 
District-Attorney  both  formally  resigned  their  offices. 
And  on  the  following  day  the  legislature  of  the  State 
called  a  convention  to  declare  its  withdrawal  from  the 
Union ! 

The  North  stood  still,  amazed.  The  thing  went  on, 
faster  and  faster.  The  senators  of  the  State  resigned 
next.  There  were  meetings  for  the  ratification  of  the 
legislature's  action  —  fireworks  and  bonfires,  bands  and 
serenades,  parades  of  "minutemen,"  raisings  of  "liberty 
poles."  Day  by  day  the  newspapers  of  the  city  chronicled 
their  doings,  and  similar  doings  all  over  the  South  — 
"  The  March  of  the  Revolution,"  as  one  of  them  termed  it. 
Alabama  and  Mississippi  had  called  conventions;  the 
legislature  of  Georgia  appropriated  a  million  dollars  for 
the  purpose  of  arming  the  State.  To  the  latter  Mr. 
Toombs  had  delivered  a  furious  harangue.  "  I  ask  you 
to  give  me  the  sword  !  "  he  had  cried.  "  If  you  do  not 
give  it  to  me,  as  God  lives,  I  will  take  it  myself  !  " 

They  really  meant  to  secede,  then,  these  wild  people, 
exclaimed  the  North.  But  what  was  the  matter  with 
them  ?  Was  it  on  account  of  Lincoln  ?  Why,  he  was  so 
little  of  an  antislavery  man  that  Wendell  Phillips  had 
called  him  a  "slave  hound."  And  what  harm  could  he 
do,  anyway  —  his  party  could  not  even  command  either 
branch  of  Congress  !  To  break  up  the  country  upon  such 
a  pretext  —  why,  it  was  preposterous  ! 

262 


THE   CLIMAX  253 

And  yet  they  were  in  earnest  —  day  by  day  the  thing 
was  becoming  more  clear.  The  people  turned  to  their 
leaders  for  counsel ;  but  the  leaders  were  as  much  at  sea 
as  the  people.  Some  among  the  Republicans  cried  "  Trea- 
son! "  and  invoked  the  example  of  Jackson,  who  had 
vowed  his  "  By  the  Eternal "  to  hang  the  South  Carolina 
nullifiers  nearly  thirty  years  before.  But,  alas  !  poor  Mr. 
Buchanan  was  no  Jackson.  For  ten  or  twelve  years  the 
old  gentleman  had  made  his  living  by  crying  "  Wolf  !  " 
to  the  Northern  States ;  they  had  seen  fit  to  laugh  at  him, 
and  now  it  was  not  in  human  nature  that  he  should  be 
very  much  enraged  at  their  finding  his  predictions  coming 
true. 

In  so  far  as  there  were  any  precedents  at  all  in  this 
crisis,  the  hope  of  the  distracted  country  lay  in  a  "  com- 
promise." The  South  was  violent  for  the  third  time; 
what  did  she  want  ?  The  radicals  and  the  agitators  were 
frightened  into  silence,  and  the  voices  of  the  conservatives 
began  now  to  be  heard;  there  commenced  a  defection 
from  the  Republican  ranks,  the  bankers  and  merchants 
leading.  The  stock  market  was  in  confusion,  banks  were 
suspending  —  ruin  stared  the  country  in  the  face. 

All  eyes  were  turned  upon  Congress,  which  met  early 
in  the  following  month.  The  first  thing  was  the  Presi- 
dent's message  —  he  had  taken  counsel  with  Senator 
Davis  upon  it,  and  it  proved  to  be  a  long  sermon,  addressed 
to  the  free  States,  upon  the  wickedness  and  folly  of  their 
ways.  For  the  troubles  which  had  come  upon  it,  the 
North  had  nothing  to  blame  but  its  own  "  long-continued 
and  intemperate  interference  "  with  the  South.  "  Self- 
preservation,"  the  President  explained,  "is  the  first  law 
of  nature.  And  no  political  union,  however  fraught  with 
blessings  and  benefits  in  all  other  respects,  can  long  con- 
tinue, if  the  necessary  consequence  be  to  render  the  homes 
and  the  firesides  of  nearly  half  the  parties  to  it  habitually 
and  hopelessly  insecure."  So  far  as  the  message  dealt 
with  the  future,  its  doctrines  were  summed  up  by  Senator 
Seward  :  (1)  "  That  no  State  has  a  right  to  secede  unless 
it  wishes  to ;  and  (2)  that  it  is  the  President's  duty  to 

17 


254  MANASSAS 

enforce  the  laws  unless  somebody  opposes  him."  Pitiful, 
indeed,  was  the  figure  of  this  half-imbecile  old  man,  who 
after  half  a  century  of  political  time-serving,  was  now 
whirled  out  into  this  seething  caldron  of  passion.  The 
destinies  of  a  nation  lay  in  his  keeping  —  and  he  was 
drifting  hither  and  thither,  flung  about  by  a  raging  tem- 
pest, without  a  compass,  without  a  rudder,  without  a  sail. 

With  a  firm  hand  and  a  swift  movement  this  half-hatched 
eockatrice  of  rebellion  might  have  been  stifled  in  its  shell. 
But  for  forty  years  the  Southerners  had  been  the  masters, 
and  this  feeble  gentleman  the  servant  ;  and  now  in  the 
cabinet  and  the  council  chamber,  arrogant  and  domineer- 
ing, they  kept  him  on  his  knees.  He  was  in  terror  of 
bloodshed,  and  day  and  night  they  plied  him  with  threats 
of  it.  In  the  harbor  of  Charleston  were  four  military 
works  belonging  to  the  United  States  government.  One 
of  them,  Fort  Sumter,  had  cost  a  million  dollars,  and  was 
now  without  a  garrison,  and  with  enemies  arming  and 
drilling  day  and  night  in  front  of  it.  In  command  of 
Another  of  them,  Fort  Moultrie,  was  Major  Anderson,  with 
«*ixty  men.  He  had  warned  the  government  of  his  peril 
—  as  General  Scott  had  done  before  him  ;  but  the  Sec- 
retary of  War,  one  Floyd,  was  a  secessionist,  and  no  troops 
were  sent.  Troops  could  do  nothing,  was  the  argument— 
the  one  hope  was  in  a  "compromise." 

All  the  border  States  were  proclaiming  this,  crying  for 
an  adjustment.  Foremost  among  their  representatives 
was  Crittendenof  Kentucky,  the  "  Nestor  of  the  Senate,"  the 
successor  of  Henry  Clay.  On  December  18th  he  introduced 
his  measures  —  calling  for  six  amendments  to  the  Consti- 
tution, in  the  interest  of  Slavery.  It  was  to  be  explicitly 
declared  that  Congress  had  no  power  to  interfere  with 
the  institution  in  the  slave  States  ;  also  Slavery  was  to 
be  recognized  south  of  the  Missouri  Compromise  line  of 
36°  30'  in  all  the  territories  "  now  held  or  hereafter 
acquired  "  — the  last  phrase  referring,  of  course,  to  Cuba, 
Mexico,  and  Central  America,  which  the  Southern  leaders 
meant  to  subdue.  Three  days  later  the  South  Carolina 
convention  assembled,  and  passed  unanimously  its  "  Ordi- 


THE   CLIMAX  255 

nance"  declaring  the  dissolution  of  the  Union  between  that 
State  and  the  United  States  of  America. 

The  bells  of  the  churches  rang  out  this  news  ;  cannon 
proclaimed  it,  and  handbills  confirming  it  were  scattered 
about  the  streets.  The  people  organized  themselves  into  im- 
promptu processions  —  one  band  of  young  men  marched  to 
the  tomb  of  Calhoun,  where  they  pledged  their  solemn  vows 
upon  their  knees.  That  evening  the  delegates  met,  in  the 
midst  of  a  vast  concourse,  and  the  formal  signing  of  the 
Ordinance  took  place.  Overhead  swung  a  banner  portray- 
ing the  old  Union  as  an  arch  in  ruins  ;  and  a  new  one 
raised  above  it,  of  slave  States  only,  with  South  Carolina 
as  the  central  stone.  That  night  Paul  Hamilton  Hayne, 
the  Charleston  poet,  was  visited  by  the  muse,  and  com- 
posed a  "Song  of  Deliverance."  "O  glorious  Mother- 
land," began  one  stanza,  and  ended  with  the  outburst, 
"  Off  with  the  livery  of  disgrace,  the  baldric  of  the 
slave  !  " 

In  spite  of  such  things,  in  the  North  men  went  on  pray- 
ing for  the  "  compromise."  The  Republicans  in  Washing- 
ton stood  appalled  at  the  course  of  events.  Abolitionist 
meetings  were  once  more  being  broken  up  by  mobs  in 
Boston,  a  thing  the  country  had  not  seen  for  twenty-five 
years.  Petitions  were  pouring  into  Congress,  signed  by 
tens  and  hundreds  of  thousands,  and  even  Senator  Seward 
was  said  to  be  on  the  point  of  giving  up. 

Shut  up  in  the  harbor  of  Charleston,  mean  while,  was  Major 
Anderson  with  his  sixty  men.  The  Major  was  a  South- 
erner and  a  "  states-rights  man,"  but  meant  to  do  his  duty. 
Before  him  was  a  city  in  which  the  blare  of  music  and  the 
tramping  of  militia  were  to  be  heard  day  and  night ;  whose 
newspapers  were  clamoring  for  the  capture  of  the  forts,  and 
printing  the  doings  of  the  rest  of  the  country  under  the 
heading  of  "Foreign  News."  He  had  in  Fort  Moultrie  a 
line  of  ramparts  to  defend,  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in 
length,  and  surrounded  by  sand-hills  from  which  his  men 
might  be  picked  off  at  leisure ;  Fort  Sumter,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  situated  upon  an  island  in  mid  channel. 
The  Major  took  a  bold  resolve,  and  on  the  night  of  the 


256  MANASSAS 

twenty-sixth  of  December  he  spiked  the  guns  of  Moultrie, 
cut  down  the  flagstaff,  and  transferred  his  command  to 
the  other  work. 

When  Charleston  opened  its  eyes  the  next  morning,  it 
rubbed  them  hard,  and  then  went  wild  with  rage.  The 
governor  sent  to  demand  from  Anderson  his  immediate 
return,  which  was  refused.  South  Carolina  at  once  seized 
the  other  forts,  and  filled  them  with  troops ;  also  the 
government  custom-house  at  Charleston,  and  the  arsenal, 
with  all  its  contents.  Commissioners  were  sent  to  Wash- 
ington to  demand  of  the  President  that  Anderson  should 
be  sent  back,  and  it  was  said  that  the  President  was  on 
the  point  of  yielding.  The  South  Carolinians  were  very 
vehement  with  the  old  gentleman  —  it  is  recorded  that 
he  pleaded  they  did  not  even  give  him  time  to  say  his 
prayers. 

In  the  cabinet  there  were  men  who  were  urging  on 
secession  the  while  they  paralyzed  the  President  by 
holding  up  before  him  the  consequences  of  resistance; 
also,  however,  there  were  some  Northern  Democrats. 
Step  by  step  the  demands  of  Slavery  had  drawn  away  one 
group  after  another  of  its  Northern  supporters  —  this  last 
humiliation  was  too  much  for  even  the  friends  of  Bu- 
chanan. The  result  was  a  cabinet  crisis ;  and  the  Sec- 
retary of  State,  by  threatening  to  resign,  compelled  the 
President  to  refuse  the  demand. 

An  expedition  was  prepared  to  reenforce  Sumter,  and  it 
seemed  then  to  all  men  as  if  a  conflict  could  be  only  a 
matter  of  days.  The  vessel,  an  unarmed  merchant 
steamer,  appeared  off  the  bar  of  Charleston  harbor  on  the 
morning  of  the  ninth  of  January,  and  the  South  Carolinians 
at  once  opened  fire  on  her.  But  Major  Anderson  found 
himself  unable  to  signal  to  the  ship  because  the  halyards 
of  his  flag  were  caught;  and  while  he  waited,  shrinking 
from  the  fearful  duty  of  beginning  a  war,  the  vessel 
turned  and  went  out  to  sea  again.  Men  read  of  the  inci- 
dent the  next  morning  and  caught  their  breath,  wondering 
how  much  more  the  country  would  stand. 

On  the  same  day  the  papers  told  that  the  State  of  Mis- 


THE  CLIMAX  257 

sissippi  had  seceded.  Florida  followed  a  day  later,  and 
Alabama  a  day  later  than  that.  There  was  a  strong  senti- 
ment for  delay  in  Alabama,  and  there  had  been  a  bitter 
fight  in  the  convention;  Mr.  Yancey  had  made  a  furious 
speech,  denouncing  the  "  cooperationists,"  as  the  timid 
were  termed,  comparing  them  with  Tories,  and  calling 
them  traitors  and  rebels,  "  misguided,  deluded,  and  wicked 
men."  Apparently  Mr.  Yancey  did  not  recognize  the  right 
of  secession  by  a  portion  of  a  State. 

A  week  later  the  withdrawal  of  Georgia  was  made 
known,  and  that  of  Louisiana  after  the  same  interval. 
With  Louisiana  went  the  government  mint  at  New 
Orleans,  with  half  a  million  dollars  in  coin;  and  when 
the  State  of  Texas  seceded,  which  it  did  on  the  first  of 
February,  a  general  of  the  regular  army  surrendered  to  it 
military  property  worth  a  million  or  two  more.  Well  had 
Mr.  Davis  calculated  when  he  said,  addressing  the  "  com- 
promise men  "  in  the  Senate,  "  With  every  motion  of  that 
clock  is  passing  away  your  opportunity !  " 

The  swiftness  of  such  blows  stunned  men.  The  country 
was  falling  to  pieces  before  their  very  eyes,  and  not  a  hand 
raised  to  prevent  it.  The  administration  had  sunk  once 
more  into  inactivity  —  there  was  no  more  attempt  to  reen- 
force  Sumter,  and  none  to  save  the  other  forts.  At  the 
North  everything  was  paralysis  and  confusion  ;  at  the  South, 
aggression  and  success.  One  knew  not  what  to  expect 
next  —  papers  in  Canada  announced  that  England  would 
recognize  a  Southern  "confederacy,"  and  the  Richmond 
Enquirer  declared  that  bands  were  organizing  in  Virginia 
to  seize  Washington.  In  Congress  a  bill  had  been  offered 
to  divide  the  country  into  four  sections ;  and  the  mayor 
of  New  York  now  sent  a  message  to  the  city  council,  in 
which  he  recommended  the  secession  of  that  city !  The 
metropolis  sympathized  with  the  slaveholders,  and  hated 
the  rest  of  the  State  —  a  population  which  De  Bow's  Re- 
view, the  literary  organ  of  the  South,  had  described,  in 
discussing  the  proposal,  as  "the  vile,  sensual,  animal,  brutal, 
infidel,  superstitious  democracy  .  .  .  the  whole  beastly, 
puritanic,  4  sauer-kraut,'  free  negro,  infidel,  superstitious, 


258  MANASSAS 

licentious,  democratic  population,  .  .  .  the  immoral,  infidel, 
agrarian,  free-love  democracy  of  western  New  York ! " 

Here  and  there,  to  be  sure,  a  gleam  of  light  burst  through 
the  darkness.  The  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  electrified 
the  country  by  sending  a  despatch  to  the  commander  of 
a  revenue-cutter  in  Louisiana,  "  If  any  man  attempts  to 
haul  down  the  American  flag,  shoot  him  on  the  spot  !  " 
But  then,  the  secessionists  did  not  even  deliver  the  mes- 
sage, and  the  vessel  went  the  way  of  everything  else.  In 
Washington  all  was  in  confusion  ;  employees  of  the  govern- 
ment and  officers  of  the  army  were  proving  disloyal  in  such 
numbers  that  no  one  knew  whom  he  could  trust. 

The  one  idea  of  President  Buchanan  had  now  become  to 
bring  his  administration  to  its  end  without  war.  In  this 
he  was  at  one  with  the  Southern  leaders,  who  wished  time 
to  mature  their  plans ;  and  behind  the  scenes  there  was 
now  a  struggle  between  them  and  the  radicals  of  Charles- 
ton, to  whom  the  presence  of  the  stars  and  stripes  over 
Sumter  was  a  perpetual  menace  and  insult.  Charleston 
was  wild  with  impatience  —  secession  had  somehow  not 
proven  a  universal  panacea  as  promised.  The  value  of 
slaves  was  now  only  half  what  it  had  been  before  Lincoln's 
election  ;  business  was  at  a  standstill,  and  the  expenses  of 
the  military  regime  being  twenty  thousand  dollars  a  day, 
it  was  no  wonder  that  the  city  was  hard  to  restrain.  A 
commissioner  had  been  sent  to  Washington  to  demand  the 
surrender  of  Sumter  ;  and  receiving  instead  one  of  the 
interminable  disquisitions  of  the  placid  President,  he  fell 
into  a  fury,  and  replied  with  a  letter  which  must  have 
made  that  old  gentleman  jump.  "  You  next,"  the  commis- 
sioner wrote,  "  attempt  to  ridicule  the  proposal  as  simply 
an  offer  on  the  part  of  South  Carolina  to  buy  Fort  Sumter 
and  contents  as  the  property  of  the  United  States.  .  .  . 
It  is  difficult  to  consider  this  as  other  than  an  intentional 
misconstruction.  You  were  told  that  South  Carolina,  as 
a  separate,  independent  sovereignty,  would  not  tolerate 
the  occupation,  by  foreign  troops,  of  a  military  post 
within  her  limits  —  and  this  your  Secretary  calls  a  pro- 
posal to  purchase  !  " 


THE   CLIMAX  259 

In  Congress  men  were  still  laboring  for  a  "compromise." 
It  was  now  seen  that  this  must  mean  the  giving  up  of  the 
cotton  States  ;  but  it  might  still  be  possible  to  keep  the 
border  States,  and  to  avert  a  civil  war.  Seven  slave  States 
had  seceded,  eight  still  hung  in  the  balance,  —  Delaware, 
Maryland,  Virginia,  North  Carolina,  Kentucky,  Tennessee, 
Missouri,  and  Arkansas.  In  each  of  them  the  attempts 
of  the  "  precipitators  "  had  failed  ;  and  now  the  General 
Assembly  of  Virginia,  expressing  its  wish  for  some  settle- 
ment, came  forward  with  the  suggestion  of  a  "  peace  con- 
ference," to  which  all  of  the  States  were  requested  to  send 
delegates.  These  met  in  Washington,  upon  the  fourth  of 
February,  ex-President  Tyler  being  the  presiding  officer  ; 
the  hopes  of  the  conservatives  were  all  in  this  conference, 
but  few  of  the  Republicans  regarded  it  with  favor.  The 
Tribune  described  it  irreverently  as  a  "  convocation  of 
old  hens,  sitting  upon  a  nest  of  eggs,  some  of  which  will 
hatch  out  vipers,  while  the  rest  are  addled."  The  point 
of  this  remark  lay  in  the  belief  that  the  secessionist^  were 
using  the  convention  as  a  means  of  blinding  the  country 
and  gaining  time  for  their  preparations.  The  business 
of  dancing  attendance  upon  the  border  States  was  one 
which  went  against  the  grain  of  the  Republicans  ;  a  jingle 
of  the  time  summed  up  the  rules  of  the  dance  :  "  Move 
not  a  finger  ;  'tis  coercion,  the  signal  for  our  prompt  dis- 
persion. Wait  till  I  speak  my  full  decision,  be  it  for 
Union  or  division.  If  I  declare  my  ultimatum,  accept  my 
terms  as  I  shall  state  'em.  Then  I'll  remain  whilst  I'm 
inclined  to,  seceding  when  I  have  a  mind  to  !  " 

On  the  same  day  that  this  peace  conference  met,  there 
assembled  another  at  Montgomery,  Alabama,  made  up  of 
delegates  from  the  cotton  States.  Their  purpose  was  to 
form  a  Southern  Confederacy,  and  this  they  proceeded 
with  resolute  swiftness  to  do.  In  five  days  they  had 
drawn  up  and  adopted  their  provisional  constitution,  and 
had  chosen  Mr.  Davis  their  president,  and  Mr.  Stephens 
their  vice-president.  The  constitution  differed  but  little 
from  the  one  they  had  left  behind  them,  save  that  it  ex- 
plicitly recognized  Slavery.  The  African  slave  trade  was 


260  MANASSAS 

prohibited,  out  of  respect  to  the  opinions  of  mankind  :  a 
move  which  greatly  displeased  South  Carolina,  and  caused 
the  Charleston  Mercury  to  predict  a  new  secession  and  to 
declare  that  they  were  about  to  be  "saddled"  with  almost 
every  grievance  against  which  they  had  fought. 

In  a  few  days  more  Mr.  Davis  was  inaugurated  ;  he 
named  his  cabinet,  and  then  the  convention,  acting  as  a 
Congress,  went  on  to  provide  for  a  loan  of  fifteen  millions 
of  dollars,  and  the  raising  of  a  hundred  thousand  volun- 
teers. It  took  over  "  all  questions  and  difficulties  "  then 
existing  with  the  old  Republic,  and  it  named  commis- 
sioners to  treat  concerning  them.  Also  it  named  others 
—  of  whom  Mr.  Yancey  was  one  —  to  hasten  abroad  and 
secure  the  recognition  of  England  and  the  nations  of 
Europe  :  all  of  which  had  a  very  businesslike  and  serious 
aspect.  "  We  will  maintain  our  rights  and  our  govern- 
ment at  all  hazards,"  Mr.  Davis  had  said,  as  he  entered 
the  city,  amid  thundering  of  cannon  and  deafening  cheers. 
"We  ask  nothing;  we  want  nothing;  and  we  will  have 
no  complications." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  was  a  matter  to  make  a  man  rub  his  eyes.  For  half 
a  century  this  thing,  Secession,  had  been  like  some  monster 
of  the  deep,  rearing  its  crest  now  and  then  from  the 
troubled  depths  of  the  sea  ;  now  for  the  first  time  it  had 
emerged,  and  stood  with  its  full  form  revealed.  And 
men  gazed  at  it  terrified.  The  country  torn  in  half! 
The  Union  severed!  Its  States  organized  with  a  new 
government,  a  new  name,  a  new  flag  !  And  turning  their 
arms  against  their  sister  States — sending  to  Europe  for 
help  against  them ! 

It  was  a  thing  one  could  not  realize  all  at  once.  It  was 
a  horror  without  end.  It  had  a  way  of  coming  upon  one 
suddenly,  overwhelmingly,  like  a  rush  of  waters  ;  it  broke 
open  before  one  in  vista  upon  vista  of  despair,  making 
him  shudder  in  every  limb.  It  stretched  out  into  the 
future  without  end — the  farther  one  saw  the  more  fearful 
it  loomed,  until  he  buried  his  head  in  his  arms,  and  cried 
out  to  be  free  from  the  sight  of  it.  Why — there  was 
nothing  left  of  America,  there  was  nothing  left  in  the 
world  that  a  man  could  live  for  ! 

And  yet  it  was  real  —  as  real  as  the  day ;  it  was  here, 
there  was  no  getting  away  from  it  !  Portentous,  enor- 
mous, it  was  here  ;  unassailable  as  Alp  or  Himalaya ; 
defiant  and  aggressive,  hideous,  leering  into  your  face. 
It  haunted  you,  it  followed  you  about,  wherever  you 
went,  whatever  you  did,  a  presence  that  was  not  to  be 
put  by.  It  acted  upon  men  like  the  ringing  of  a  fire 
bell — insistent,  incessant ;  the  student  left  his  books  and 
the  workingman  his  bench,  forgetting  all  things  for  this. 
In  groups  upon  street  corners  men  discussed  it  —  in  news- 
papers, in  churches,  in  public  meetings  and  in  legislative 
halls  they  talked  of  nothing  else. 

It  called  to  Allan,  with  the  rest ;  it  took  hold  of  him  as 

261 


262  MANASSAS 

no  other  public  question  ever  had.  He  had  been  wrought 
up  by  the  inroads  of  Slavery  ;  but  Slavery  was  nothing 
to  this.  Slavery  you  could  put  off ;  you  could  stop 
thinking  about  it,  you  could  turn  your  thoughts  to  affairs 
of  your  own,  and  have  only  a  twinge  of  conscience  now  and 
then  to  trouble  you.  But  it  was  idle  to  try  to  have  any 
peace  in  the  face  of  this  thing — no  man  not  a  caitiff 
could  live  a  moment  and  not  share  in  its  agony  and  dis- 
tress. The  ship  of  state  was  on  the  rocks. 

Those  on  board  cried  out  for  help — with  the  shrill  insist- 
ence of  despair.  The  agony  of  the  thing  was  this — that 
no  man  knew  what  to  do,  but  every  man  knew  that  to  do 
nothing  was  ruin,  and  that  the  next  instant  it  might  be  too 
late  to  do  anything.  To  be  drifting  helplessly  with  the 
breakers  in  sight  was  more  than  human  nerves  could  bear. 
Was  the  deliverance  to  be  found  in  a  compromise  ?  If  so, 
then  it  must  be  quickly  ;  to-morrow  new  States  might  go 
out,  to-morrow  those  that  remained  were  sure  to  be  more 
unsettled,  more  exacting.  Were  those  which  had  seceded 
to  be  brought  back  by  force?  Then  there  was  more  need 
than  ever  of  haste  ;  every  day  they  were  stronger,  every 
day  they  were  more  accustomed  to  the  thought  of  inde- 
pendence. Was  peaceable  secession  to  be  the  course  — 
was  the  North  to  say,  in  the  words  of  General  Scott, 
"  Wayward  sisters,  depart  in  peace  "  ?  In  that  case  the 
urgency  was  greatest  of  all.  Down  in  Charleston  harbor 
lay  Major  Anderson,  beleaguered,  cut  off  from  his  govern- 
ment, walled  in  by  hostile  forts ;  and  there  it  lay  in  the 
power  of  some  rash  hand  at  any  instant  to  fire  a  shot  that 
would  drench  a  continent  in  human  blood.  Day  by  day 
one  could  see  the  fires  of  hatred,  North  and  South,  fanned 
higher  by  the  wrangling  over  that  wretched  fort.  Allan 
could  feel  that  in  his  own  person  ;  he  hated  this  rebellion 
which  had  struck  at  his  country's  flag — but  most  of  all 
he  hated  it  because  it  was  the  work  of  South  Carolina. 
When  one  thought  of  South  Carolina,  he  thought  of 
Calhoun  and  the  nullifiers,  of  Sumner  and  his  assassin. 
It  was  hard  to  think  of  civil  war  in  general — but  easy  to 
think  of  it  with  the  constituents  of  Preston  Brooks. 


THE   CLIMAX  263 

The  passion  of  it  smouldered  in  him  ;  it  was  of  no  use 
to  try  to  feel  about  this  as  if  it  were  an  abstract  question, 
a  matter  of  the  phraseology  of  the  Constitution,  the  inten- 
tion of  the  founders,  the  rights  of  the  minority,  the  sover- 
eignty of  the  States.  Grant  all  the  rights  they  claimed, 
and  you  had  not  touched  the  main  thing ;  what  was  it 
that  was  breaking  up  the  Union  —  what  was  it  that  had 
struck  the  blow  ?  It  was  the  black,  piratical  power  that 
had  fought  down  the  nation  since  Allan  had  opened  his 
eyes  to  political  affairs — that  had  built  a  wall  across  its 
pathway  — that  was  beating  it  back  from  its  goal,  despoil- 
ing it  of  its  priceless  heritage  —  it  was  Slavery  !  Brutal, 
blind,  and  ruthless  as  it  was,  it  had  held  the  land  by  the 
throat  for  a  generation.  By  hatred,  prejudice,  intimidation 
at  the  North,  by  jail  and  whipping-post,  mobs  and  assassi- 
nations at  the  South,  it  had  kept  the  power  in  its  hands  ; 
and  its  crimes  —  who  could  count  its  crimes  ?  The  African 
slave  trade,  the  Mexican  War,  the  Cuban  and  Nicaraguan 
filibusters,  the  Kansas  raid,  the  Sumner  assault !  And  now 
the  sceptre  had  been  torn  from  its  hands  —  and  it  had 
turned  and  struck  down  the  altar  of  the  nation,  shattered 
it  into  fragments,  and  stood  unpunished,  mocking,  safe 
from  all  rebuke  ! 

A  right  to  break  up  the  Union?  Yes,  no  doubt — for 
a  right  reason.  But  a  right  to  break  it  up  for  Slavery  ? 
That  was  the  thing  —  that  was  the  very  heart  of  it,  and 
see  that  you  did  not  miss  it  !  If  it  had  been  for  any  right 
reason,  they  would  never  have  wanted  to  break  it  up. 
What  reason  could  there  be  for  secession  from  such  a  union  ? 
A  union  of  States  devoted  to  freedom — loving  peace  and 
order  —  caring  only  for  progress  and  the  welfare  of  man- 
kind. What  reason,  before  God,  but  a  bad  reason  ? 
What  reason  but  the  reason  of  the  "  K.  G.  C.  "  ? 

The  centre  of  the  "  Golden  Circle  "  was  Havana  ;  its 
periphery  began  in  Maryland  and  extended  through  the 
cotton  States,  through  Mexico  and  Central  America,  to 
the  shores  of  the  Caribbean.  "The  Knights  of  the 
Golden  Circle"  was  a  secret  order  of  the  proslavery  ex- 
tremists of  the  far  South.  It  had  existed  there  and  done 


264  MANASSAS 

its  work  of  agitation  for  many  years,  and  people  had 
merely  laughed  at  it ;  but  now  it  numbered  its  members 
by  tens  of  thousands  —  it  was  said  to  have  its  "  castle"  in 
every  town  in  Texas.  Its  task  had  been  to  "fire  the 
Southern  heart "  with  the  vision  of  the  great  slave  empire 
which  was  to  arise  within  the  bounds  of  the  magic  circle. 
The  independence  of  the  slave  States  once  made  sure,  its 
armies  would  sweep  over  this  land  with  the  rush  of  a 
tornado ;  nothing  could  withstand  them,  and  when  they 
were  intrenched  they  would  reopen  the  African  trade  and 
fill  up  the  country  with  millions  of  negroes.  And  of  this 
empire  the  monarch  was  to  be  Cotton:  Cotton,  which 
only  the  South  could  grow,  and  which  England,  Old  and 
New,  must  have — which  was  to  hold  the  world  in  thrall. 
"  You  dare  not  make  war  on  Cotton  !  "  a  South  Carolinian 
had  cried  out  exultingly  in  the  Senate.  "No  power  on 
earth  dares  to  make  war  upon  Cotton !  COTTON  is 
KING  ! " 

And  it  was  for  this  that  the  Union  was  to  perish,  that 
the  hope  of  mankind  was  to  fail.  It  was  for  this  that  the 
grandsons  of  Washington  and  of  Jefferson  were  to  shatter 
the  temple  that  Washington  and  Jefferson  had  reared. 
Throughout  all  this  long  agony  Allan  seemed  to  hear  his 
grandfather's  voice  in  his  ear,  seemed  to  see  his  face  before 
him,  as  he  lay  dying,  but  still  pleading  for  the  land  he  had 
loved  so  long.  "  Cherish  it !  Guard  it !  "  he  had  whispered 
to  them  so  often.  "  There  is  no  land  like  it  in  the  world, 
there  is  no  hope  like  it  in  the  world  ;  and  when  you  go  out 
into  life  and  meet  selfish  men  and  base  men  —  do  not  let 
them  deceive  you,  and  do  not  let  them  have  their  way!" 
Now  they  had  had  it ;  and  Freedom  stood  upon  her  moun- 
tain heights,  and  wrung  her  hands  in  her  despair. 

Long  ago  Allan  had  flung  aside  the  foolish  arguments 
for  "the  constitutional  right  of  secession."  Such  argu- 
ments would  deceive  those  who  wished  to  be  deceived  — 
none  others.  Even  supposing  that  one  were  to  grant  that 
right  to  the  sovereign  States  of  South  Carolina  and  Geor- 
gia—  the  right  to  annul  the  compact  by  which  they  had 
entered  the  Union ;  what  then  of  the  States  of  Florida  and 


THE  CLIMAX  265 

Louisiana  and  Mississippi,  which  now  claimed  equally  the 
right  ?  Florida,  that  had  been  purchased  from  Spain  by 
the  money  of  the  whole  nation,  and  Louisiana  and  Missis- 
sippi that  had  been  purchased  from  France !  It  was  notori- 
ous that  it  was  nothing  but  the  military  and  naval  power 
of  the  whole  nation,  such  as  it  then  was,  that  had  kept 
England  from  gobbling  up  the  last  two  States,  purchase  or 
no  purchase ;  and  yet  now  they  would  take  themselves  off, 
without  even  so  much  as  "  By  your  leave !  " 

And  where  was  the  thing  to  stop,  if  each  State  had  such 
a  right  ?  How  long  would  it  be  before  new  differences 
would  arise — differences  between  agricultural  and  manu- 
facturing States,  for  one  thing,  leading  to  the  withdrawal 
of  the  West  ?  And  California,  bought  from  Mexico,  might 
also  leave  whenever  her  interests  dictated  ?  The  govern- 
ment had  just  put  down  a  revolt  of  the  Mormons  in  the 
territory  of  Utah — and  now  all  the  Mormons  had  to  do  was 
to  be  admitted  as  a  State,  and  then  secede  ?  And  New 
Mexico,  also  purchased  at  a  cost  of  millions — her  popula- 
tion was  mainly  Mexican,  and  all  they  had  to  do  was  to  be 
admitted  as  a  State,  and  then  secede  and  return  to  their 
mother-land  ?  Once  let  such  news  get  about — why,  what 
would  prevent  any  foreign  nation  from  colonizing  the 
territories  of  the  United  States  —  what  would  prevent 
Canadians  from  filling  Oregon  —  or  Russians,  or  Chinamen, 
if  they  chose  —  and  then  seceding?  Or  the  Germans  in 
Pennsylvania  ?  Or  the  Irish  in  New  York  ?  One  could 
not  trust  entirely  the  disinterestedness  of  a  people 
which  advanced  an  argument  with  such  consequences  as 
those. 

A  slave  empire  such  as  the  South  had  begun  could  of 
course  not  endure,  that  much  was  evident  to  any  man  ;  it 
was  founded  upon  the  everlasting  lie,  and  decay  and  ruin 
would  be  its  destiny.  "  Let  them  go,  then,"  said  some, 
perceiving  this.  "  Let  them  have  their  way  —  let  them 
try  it!  They  will  get  tired,  and  then  they  will  come 
back."  There  was  reason  in  the  argument  ;  and  those 
who  held  it  watched  the  storm-clouds  gather  over  Sumter 
with  sick  and  fainting  hearts.  If  once  it  came  to  fighting, 


266  MANASSAS 

then  this  hope  was  gone  forever ;  whatever  happened 
then  —  there  could  never  more  be  a  Union.  How  absurd 
it  was,  the  idea  that  States  could  be  driven  back  at  the 
point  of  the  bayonet,  to  become  members  of  a  free  Republic  ! 
Better  a  thousand  times  that  they  should  go  —  that  they 
should  have  their  will  —  so  only  we  keep  somewhere  safe 
the  free  institutions  our  fathers  left  us  !  After  all,  what 
is  the  South  to  us  —  what  has  it  ever  been  to  us,  but  a 
hindrance  ?  And  have  we  really  no  greatness  but  in  our 
size?  Why^  all  Greece  was  not  one-half  as  large  as  the 
State  of  New  York  —  let  us  try  to  be  as  great  as  was 
Greece  !  May  we  not  mind  our  own  affairs,  and  save  our 
sons  from  death  and  horror,  and  let  the  slave  power  run 
its  own  Satan's  course  ?  Surely  this  is  noble,  and  not 
cowardly  ;  and  surely  we  may  look  forward  to  a  happy 
time  when  mankind  will  know  how  to  honor  such  a  de- 
cision, to  respect  a  nation  which  scorns  to  stand  upon 
force ! 

To  these  arguments  came  others,  perplexing  to  the  soul, 
destructive  of  sleep.  No,  a  war  would  not  make  the  Union 
impossible  —  nothing  could  make  it  impossible  but  the  rec- 
ognizing of  secession.  Every  day  that  you  left  the  South 
alone,  you  did  something  to  make  it  impossible  ;  if  you 
had  struck  at  the  first  move,  the  crisis  would  have  been 
over  by  now.  And  you  talk  of  their  going  to  ruin,  and 
you  standing  by  —  do  you  think  that  you  can  live  next 
to  such  neighbors,  and  not  be  dragged  down  with  them, 
step  by  step  ?  They  spurn  you  as  dogs  already  ;  what 
will  they  do  when  you  cower  once  more  before  their 
threats  ?  They  are  writing  insulting  notes  to  your  poor 
old  President  —  what  will  their  ambassadors  do  when  you 
meet  them  to  arrange  the  thousand  and  one  details  of  your 
submission  ?  And  you  will  give  them  everything  and 
retire  in  dignity — fools,  they  will  be  claiming  something 
new  before  six  months  are  by  !  You  are  going  to  give  up 
the  fort  and  surrender  the  arsenals  —  but  what  are  you 
going  to  do  about  copyrights  and  patents  —  about  the  rail- 
roads and  telegraphs  you  own  there  —  about  the  two  hun- 
dred million  dollars  their  merchants  owe  to  yours,  and 


THE   CLIMAX  267 

that  they  are  going  to  sequester  ?  What  are  you  going  to 
do  about  the  tens  of  thousands  of  slaves  who  will  come 
pouring  into  your  borders  —  about  the  quarrels  and  raids 
that  will  take  place  there  ?  Do  you  not  see  that  if  you 
never  should  fight,  they  would  never  stop  until  they  had 
walked  all  over  you  ?  You  prate  of  peace  —  of  scorning 
force  —  can  you  not  understand  these  men  are  slave  drivers  f 
That  they  know  nothing  but  force,  that  they  respect  noth- 
ing but  force,  that  their  whole  political  system  is  nothing 
but  the  incarnation  and  the  apotheosis  of  force  ?  No  — 
let  them  go,  and  what  you  will  do  from  the  very  start  — 
what  you  are  beginning  to  do  right  now  —  is  to  enter  into 
a  race  with  them  in  military  preparation  ;  and  in  ten  years 
you  will  be  as  Germany  and  France  are  now,  and  your 
people  will  have  bent  their  heads  to  the  yoke  of  standing 
armies  and  conscriptions.  Do  you  not  see  the  dreadful  peril 
of  the  nation  —  that  the  only  hope  is  in  the  fact  that  your 
non-recognition  of  this  rebellion  makes  it  impossible  for 
Europe  to  recognize  it,  without  committing  an  act  of  war  ? 
Once  yield,  and  they  follow,  and  then  you  have  intrigues 
and  alliances  —  and  your  place  in  the  world  is  gone  for- 
ever !  Do  you  not  think  that  the  aristocracy  of  England 
and  the  despot  of  France  will  know  where  their  interests 
lie  in  such  a  quarrel  ?  You  look  for  an  era  of  peace  and 
freedom  —  of  peace  with  this  pirate  power  at  your  side  ! 
Do  you  not  see  that  the  one  chance  of  an  era  of  peace  for 
centuries  to  come  lay  in  the  experiment  which  we  were  try- 
ing here  ?  How  else  could  peace  be  brought  to  the  world 
so  quickly  as  by  a  power  such  as  we  were  to  be  —  too  strong 
to  be  attacked,  too  strong  to  need  to  attack  others  ?  It  was 
our  dream  to  stand  to  mankind  for  democratic  institutions 
- — to  be  the  hope  of  the  struggling  masses  all  over  the 
world  ;  and  now  we  are  to  fall  to  pieces  —  and  the  mon- 
archies of  Europe  will  have  centuries  added  to  their  lease 
of  life. 

So  talked  the  young  men  of  Boston,  the  men  of  Harvard, 
with  whom  Allan  argued.  These  people  were  quiet,  and 
not  given  to  blustering  ;  it  was  a  sign  of  the  times  now 


268  MANASSAS 

that  all  over  the  city  drill  clubs  were  organizing,  that 
night  after  night  these  men  were  being  made  into  soldiers. 
They  said  nothing  about  it  until  they  were  asked  ;  but 
Allan  was  startled  to  learn  that  some  of  them  were  sleep- 
ing upon  the  floor  by  the  open  window  on  cold  winter 
nights,  wrapped  only  in  a  blanket.  There  was  one  slightly- 
built  gentleman  who  had  been  the  poet  of  Allan's  class,  and 
who  was  now  married  and  a  father,  but  walked  twenty 
.miles  every  day,  with  his  pockets  filled  with  lead  ;  he  was 
wealthy,  and  had  been  tenderly  reared,  and  he  owned  it 
was  hard  ;  "  but  you  see,"  he  explained  to  Allan,  "  you 
can't  expect  uneducated  men  to  understand  about  this 
thing." 

Allan  had  private  interests  which  might  well  have 
influenced  his  hopes  in  the  matter.  He  had  an  inheri- 
tance worth,  perhaps,  half  a  million  dollars,  in  Mississippi ; 
and  while  the  income  of  it  still  came  to  him  regularly, 
and  without  trouble,  he  had  no  way  of  knowing  how  long 
this  might  continue.  The  agreement  by  which  he  was 
kept  from  disposing  of  the  land  and  freeing  the  slaves 
as  he  had  promised,  expired  early  in  the  coming  month 
of  April  ;  and  it  was  his  dearly  cherished  plan  to  bring 
them  North  and  to  establish  them  with  Mr.  Coffin's  help. 
Meantime,  however,  the  war  talk  had,  perhaps,  cut  the 
value  of  the  place  in  half,  and  an  actual  outbreak  of  hos- 
tilities might  repeat  that  process,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
tremendous  difficulties  it  would  throw  in  the  way  of  his 
plans.  Yet  these  considerations  were  not  what  influenced 
him  ;  if,  in  the  presence  of  the  clear-cut  resolve  of  his 
friends,  he  found  himself  cowardly  and  weak,  he  could  at 
least  be  sure  that  this  was  not  the  reason.  He  would 
have  given  an  arm,  he  felt,  to  be  able  to  take  their  view 
of  the  prospect ;  he  would  not  have  feared  the  hardships 
—  they  would  have  given  him  an  appetite  again,  and  he 
was  sick  with  uncertainty  and  despair.  He  cursed 
himself  in  the  words  of  Hamlet,  "A  dull  and  muddy 
mettled  rascal  —  like  John-a-dreams,  unpregnant  of  my 
cause  !  " 

Yet  he  knew  that  the  truth  was  not  this  —  it  was  that 


THE  CLIMAX  269 

he  saw  farther,  he  saw  that  the  thing  these  men  meant  to 
do  was  not  possible.  He  knew  the  South,  he  knew  the 
task.  The  first  shot  that  was  fired  would  send  the  border 
States  out  of  the  Union  —  there  would  be  fifteen  States  to 
conquer,  nine  or  ten  millions  of  white  people,  as  brave,  as 
alert,  as  determined  as  ever  had  lived  upon  earth.  And 
upon  their  home  ground,  in  the  midst  of  their  forest  wil- 
dernesses, their  mountain  passes,  their  eight  or  nine  hun- 
dred thousand  square  miles  of  territory,  to  conquer  and 
subdue  them  would  be  a  task  the  like  of  which  history 
had  never  seen  performed.  The  wealth  of  the  nation 
would  not  be  equal  to  it  —  the  lives  of  the  nation  would 
not  be  equal  to  it.  And  it  was  to  be  done  by  the  nation 
as  it  was — spiritless,  despairing,  impotent ;  tangled  up  in 
legal  quibbles,  while  the  very  roof-trees  of  the  building 
were  falling  about  its  ears  ;  in  the  midst  of  a  crisis  the 
like  of  which  no  country  had  ever  faced  before  —  and 
without  a  principle,  without  a  leader,  without  a  care,  save 
for  partisan  advantage,  and  the  state  of  trade.  It  was  all 
very  well  for  a  few  ardent  Republicans  to  be  going  to 
drill  clubs ;  the  Republicans  had  been  in  a  popular 
minority  at  the  election,  and  since  then  nearly  all  of  them 
had  given  way,  and  were  offering  themselves  to  the  South 
to  be  kicked.  And  the  old  Conservatives  —  and  the 
Democrats  —  you  were  going  to  get  a  war  out  of  them ! 
They  were  jeering  at  you,  spitting  in  your  face,  for  joy 
at  your  discomfiture,  —  and  you  were  going  to  get  a  war 
out  of  them  !  The  infamous  New  York  Herald — the  wild 
Irish  mob  of  the  city  —  you  were  going  to  lead  them  upon 
an  antislavery  crusade  into  the  South !  Far  more  likely 
would  you  find  justified  the  prediction  made  continually 
by  their  leading  politicians — that  if  there  was  any  fighting 
it  would  all  be  at  the  North  —  that  no  regiment  for  the 
subjugation  of  the  South  would  ever  get  through  that 
metropolis  alive. 

"But  the  new  administration,"  they  answered,  when 
Allan  argued  thus,  — "  will  not  a  bold  policy  rally  the 
people  ? "  He  would  have  been  glad  to  believe  it ;  he 

18 


270  MANASSAS 

longed  for  the  attempt  —  he  looked  for  the  first  sign  of  it. 
The  President-elect  had  given  none,  so  far  ;  but  the  time 
for  his  inauguration  drew  near,  and  he  set  out  for  Wash- 
ington, and  on  the  way  he  was  of  course  compelled  to 
make  speeches.  Boston  was,  speaking  generally,  not 
prejudiced  in  favor  of  six-foot  rail-splitters  as  Presidents  ; 
and  these  speeches  were  awaited  with  anxiety,  and  read 
with  dismay.  The  new  President's  remarks  were  full  of 
flippant  and  tactless  sentences.  Upon  the  question  of  the 
hour  he  had  nothing  better  to  offer  to  a  distracted  country 
than  the  opinion  that  there  was  "  nothing  going  wrong," 
that  there  was  "nobody  hurt,"  that  there  was  "no  crisis 
but  an  artificial  one."  His  main  reliance,  at  a  pinch, 
seemed  to  be  the  statement  that  he  had  not  prepared  a 
speech,  but  had  merely  come  to  see  the  people,  and  to  give 
the  people  a  chance  to  see  him  —  and  that  he  had  very 
much  the  better  of  the  bargain.  Now  perhaps  it  was  true, 
as  a  diarist  of  the  time  noted  down,  that  the  coming 
President  was  "  the  most  ill-favored  son  of  Adam  "  ever 
seen ;  but  what  atrocious  taste  it  was  to  keep  making 
speeches  about  it!  Also  he  developed  a  fondness  for  an 
amazing  procedure  which  he  called  "putting  backs  with" 
people  —  with  the  tall  men  of  the  communities  he  passed 
through — to  demonstrate  that  they  were  not  as  tall  as  he  ! 
And  finally  there  was  an  unspeakable  incident  of  a  young 
girl  who  had  written  him  that  she  thought  he  would  be 
" prettier  "  if  he  "let  his  whiskers  grow."  Now  when  she 
greeted  him  in  the  crowd  he  kissed  her,  calling  her 
"  Grace,"  and  remarking  that  he  had  done  as  she  asked. 
The  next  morning  the  dignified  New  York  Tribune 
came  out  with  the  head-line,  "  OLD  ABE  KISSED  BY  A 
PRETTY  GIRL,"  and  the  end  of  all  things  seemed  near  at 
hand.  Boston  trusted  that  this  was  the  climax,  but  was 
to  be  disappointed  yet  again,  as  it  proved.  Shortly  after- 
ward it  opened  its  eyes  one  morning  and  read  that  Mr. 
Lincoln  had  abandoned  his  programme  at  Philadelphia,  and 
sneaked  ignominiously  through  Baltimore  at  night,  dis- 
guised, so  the  papers  all  declared,  in  a  "night-cap  and 
a  long  military  cloak."  The  truth  was  that  his  friends 


THE   CLIMAX  271 

had  unearthed  a  plot  in  which  the  chief  of  police  in  Balti- 
more and  numerous  Southern  leaders  were  said  to  be 
involved,  to  have  his  railroad  train  mobbed  by  the  "  plug- 
"  uglies  "  of  that  city,  and  himself  stabbed  to  death  by  a 
band  of  assassins.  This,  however,  the  country  did  not 
know,  and  the  Democratic  press  jeered  derisively,  while 
the  Republicans  in  secret  almost  cried. 

The  sporting  men  of  Baltimore  had  laid  wagers,  at  odds, 
that  he  would  never  get  through  the  city  ;  and  at  the 
South  it  was  the  general  belief  that  he  would  never  be  in- 
augurated. That  the  prediction  was  not  realized  the  coun- 
try owed  to  General  Scott,  who  was  now  the  senior  officer 
of  the  army.  The  general  was  a  Virginian  born,  and  was 
now  so  old  and  overfed  that  he  was  not  able  to  move  with- 
out help  ;  but  he  did  his  duty  in  this  crisis,  and  he  saved 
the  state.  His  troops  were  not  visible,  but  they  were  there, 
and  the  secessionists  who  thronged  Washington  knew  also 
that  their  guns  were  loaded  with  ball.  The  President  read 
his  Inaugural  address  undisturbed,  and  while  he  read  it 
Senator  Douglas  stood  by  and  held  his  hat,  meaning  this 
for  a  sign  that  he  intended  to  support  the  administration. 
Whatever  Douglas  did,  he  did  boldly,  and  he  had  now  come 
out  against  secession.  As  he  stood  for  a  million  of  voters, 
the  country  found  this  a  joyful  sign. 

The  Inaugural  pleased  Boston  better  than  the  speeches. 
The  President  took  much  pains  to  be  apologetic  ;  he  had 
no  intention  of  interfering  with  Slavery  in  the  States,  and 
he  intended  to  execute  the  Fugitive  law  ;  but  he  denied  in 
clear  and  unmistakable  terms  the  right  of  secession.  He 
said  that  he  intended  scrupulously  to  avoid  bloodshed  and 
violence,  but  that  the  power  confided  to  him  would  be  used 
"  to  hold,  occupy,  and  possess  the  property  and  places  be- 
longing to  the  government,  and  to  collect  the  duties  and 
imposts."  Addressing  the  South,  he  concluded  :  "In  your 
hands,  my  dissatisfied  fellow-countrymen,  and  not  in  mine, 
is  the  momentous  issue  of  civil  war.  The  government 
will  not  assail  you.  You  can  have  no  conflict  without 
being  yourselves  the  aggressors." 


272  MANASSAS 

And  this  was  very  promising  for  a  start ;  but  to  stand 
still  and  wait  for  the  enemy  to  act,  while  it  sounded 
well  upon  paper,  proved  at  once  to  be  impossible  in 
fact.  It  was  discovered  that  Major  Anderson  was  run- 
ning short  of  provisions,  and  that  the  administration 
had  therefore  to  choose  definitely  between  supplying 
the  fort  and  abandoning  it.  So  once  more  the  country 
was  put  upon  the  rack,  while  the  new  cabinet  wrestled 
with  this  problem.  It  was  complicated  by  the  fact  that 
the  Virginia  convention  was  in  session :  the  secession  sen- 
timent in  it  ebbing  and  flowing  visibly,  day  by  day,  with 
the  rumors  of  the  President's  intentions.  To  attempt  to 
enter  Charleston  harbor  would  most  certainly  mean  a 
fight ;  and  at  the  first  shot  the  "  Old  Dominion  "  would 
secede. 

The  President  had  adopted  the  singular  expedient  of 
making  up  a  cabinet  of  all  his  political  rivals  ;  Seward  was 
the  Secretary  of  State,  and  Chase,  whom  Seward  hated, 
was  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury.  Three  other  disap- 
pointed candidates  had  also  been  taken  in.  As  a  means 
of  uniting  the  party  in  a  crisis,  and  of  securing  the  coun- 
try's best  talent  to  meet  it,  this  was  a  promising  plan  ; 
but  a  man  with  such  a  cabinet  on  his  hands  bade  fair  to  have 
a  lively  time.  The  confusion  became  evident  at  the  very 
first  council  —  the  conservatives,  with  Seward  leading, 
wished  to  back  out  of  the  fort,  while  the  radicals  wished 
to  hold  it  at  all  hazards.  While  Seward  was  exchanging 
communications  with  the  Confederate  "commissioners" 
who  were  in  Washington,  the  President  was  seeking 
counsel,  and  striving  to  make  up  his  mind  upon  this  most 
frightful  of  issues.  To  make  his  situation  more  madden- 
ing he  was  overwhelmed  with  office-seekers,  who  had 
swarmed  in  from  all  over  the  country — twenty  of  them 
to  every  place,  it  was  figured.  Seward  wrote  that  they 
packed  the  grounds,  halls,  and  stairways  of  the  White 
House,  so  that  he  could  hardly  get  in  or  out;  and  the 
President  called  himself  a  man  sitting  in  a  building, 
allotting  compartments,  "  while  the  structure  itself  is  on 
fire  and  likely  soon  to  perish  in  ashes." 


THE   CLIMAX  273 

The  country  looked  to  the  President,  and  the  President 
looked  to  the  country.  "  I  shall  strive  to  find  out  what 
you  wish,"  he  had  said,  "  and  then  I  shall  do  it."  So  now 
he  waited,  and  watched,  while  day  by  day  the  issue  grew 
clear.  Should  he  take  his  stand  —  should  he  hold  the 
fort,  and  let  come  what  would  ?  Or  should  he  haul  down 
the  flag  —  were  they  willing  to  bear  the  shame  of  that  ? 
For  three  months  their  eyes  had  been  fixed  upon  it,  they 
had  written  and  prayed  and  sung  about  it ;  and  now 
was  it  to  come  down  ?  They  would  have  to  face  the  con- 
tempt of  the  world,  they  would  have  to  face  their  own 
self-contempt ;  and  were  they  sure  that  even  if  they  did, 
it  would  settle  the  matter?  The  government  held  also 
Fort  Pickens  in  Florida.  Would  not  the  South  demand 
that?  And  supposing  the  second  demand  granted  — 
would  that  be  the  last  ?  Would  they  rest  content  without 
a  formal  recognition  of  their  sovereignty  —  without  the  for- 
mal recognition  of  Europe  ?  These  were  fearful  questions  ; 
and  there  were  men  —  earnest  and  patriotic  and  God-fear- 
ing men  —  who  would  not  face  them,  who  fought  against 
them  with  the  frenzy  of  despair,  unable  to  believe  that 
thirty  millions  of  peace-loving  people  could  be  caught  upon 
the  horns  of  such  a  dilemma. 

There  was  one  man  at  least  who  ought  to  have  seen  it 
clearly  —  Seward,  who  had  long  ago  proclaimed  the  truth 
about  this  struggle  :  "  They  who  think  that  it  is  accidental, 
unnecessary,  the  work  of  interested  or  fanatical  agitators, 
and  therefore  ephemeral,  mistake  the  case  altogether.  It 
is  an  irrepressible  conflict  between  opposing  and  enduring 
forces!  " 

A  conflict  between  Freedom  and  Slavery !  For  half  a 
century  they  had  been  closing  in  —  cleaving  their  way  tow- 
ard each  other  ;  and  now  they  stood  face  to  face,  sword 
point  to  sword  point.  First  it  had  been  the  agitators,  to 
be  resisted  by  mobs  and  by  postal  exclusion  ;  then  it  had 
been  slave  rescues  and  "underground  railways";  then 
it  had  been  Mexico,  California,  Cuba ;  then  squatter 
sovereignty,  congressional  protection,  Dred  Scott.  And 
now  all  these  were  forgotten,  and  among  thirty  millions 


274  MANASSAS 

of  people  there  was  only  a  single  question  —  one  little 
fort !  All  of  the  past  was  now  summed  up  in  one  little 
fort !  All  the  dead  issues  —  the  whole  conflict  —  were  in 
it  —  the  one  infinitesimal  spot  in  an  infinity  of  space 
where  the  points  of  the  two  swords  had  come  together  I 


BOOK  IV 

THE    STORM 


CHAPTER  I 

IN  the  last  days  of  March  Allan  set  out  once  more  for 
Valley  Hall. 

Allan's  home  was  still  the  South.  It  had  been  four 
years  since  he  had  left  it  forever,  but  it  had  never  ceased 
to  be  his  home ;  and  now  as  the  ship  moved,  and  the  chill 
mists  of  Boston  vanished,  and  the  breezes  began  to  grow 
warm,  the  longing  of  it  came  over  him.  The  old  planta- 
tion— he  was  to  see  it  once  again!  How  plainly  it  all 
stood  out  in  his  memory  !  And  the  people — how  were  they  ? 
For  four  years  he  had  not  had  a  word  —  some  of  them 
might  be  dead,  for  all  he  knew.  They  had  been  incensed 
when  he  left ;  but  surely  time  had  mellowed  their  feelings 
—  it  had  mellowed  his,  and  he  yearned  to  see  them  again. 
He  yearned  to  see  the  cotton  fields,  flooded  with  sunshine. 
To  see  the  moonlight  on  the  corn !  To  hear  the  mocking- 
bird, to  watch  the  fireflies,  and  drink  in  the  odor  of  jasmine 
and  sweetbrier  at  twilight!  Gladly  would  Allan  have 
escaped  from  all  the  stern  realities  of  the  hour. 

—  But  there  was  no  escaping  them  on  the  steamer.  It 
was  bound  for  New  Orleans,  and  the  few  passengers  were 
all  Southerners,  and  were  on  edge  with  excitement ;  to  be  at 
sea  for  a  week  at  such  a  time  was  a  sore  trial.  The  vessel 
was  never  far  from  the  coast,  and  when  it  was  opposite 
Charleston  they  listened  for  the  sound  of  guns.  Rounding 
Florida  they  passed  close  to  a  schooner,  and  the  steamer 
slowed  up  while  they  hailed  her.  But  she  had  no  news, 
and  so  when  they  neared  the  end  of  the  journey  the  sus- 
pense had  come  to  be  all  but  unbearable. 

How  well  Allan  remembered  that  low  coast,  and  all  the 
sights  of  it !  Those  long  white  reefs  lined  with  trees,  over 
which  flapped  the  armies  of  pelicans  —  it  might  have  been 
one  instead  of  eleven  years  ago  that  he  had  seen  them. 
But  when  they  neared  their  destination  and  the  customs 

277 


278  MANASSAS 

boat  came  out  to  meet  them,  here  at  least  was  something 
new  !  —  this  strange  three-striped  flag.  How  he  and  his 
father  would  have  started,  had  any  one  told  them  of  that ! 
And  to  have  to  have  your  trunk  examined  for  duty,  coming 
from  Boston  to  New  Orleans  ! 

Allan  soon  grew  used  to  the  flag  —  that  is,  at  least,  to 
the  sight  of  it.  It  floated  from  all  the  public  buildings 
in  New  Orleans,  arid  from  perhaps  half  of  the  private  ones. 
The  queer  old  city  seemed  transformed  into  a  military 
post ;  there  were  tents  in  all  the  public  places,  soldiers 
parading  in  the  streets  —  nearly  every  other  man  one 
passed  was  clad  in  uniform.  Where  you  would  have  looked 
for  advertisements  and  theatre  posters,  you  saw  instead 
placards  and  announcements  of  the  various  volunteer 
companies :  the  Lafayette  Guards,  the  Beauregard  Rifles, 
the  Pickwick  Rifles  (Mr.  Charles  Dickens  was  the  author 
of  the  day) ;  the  Meagher  Rifles,  the  German,  the  Spanish, 
the  Italian  volunteers.  Many  of  the  "  affiches  "  were  in 
French  —  the  Creole  population  was  even  more  wild  with 
excitement  than  the  rest.  Without  end  and  beyond  belief 
was  the  variety  of  their  uniforms  — there  were  Turcos, 
and  Zouaves,  and  Chasseurs — and  other  things  without 
name.  At  all  of  it  Allan  stared  in  amazement.  He  had  not 
dreamed  of  anything  like  it.  To  be  sure,  there  had  been 
talk  of  preparation  in  Massachusetts  —  the  militia  regiments 
had  been  ordered  to  hold  themselves  in  readiness,  and  the 
governor  of  the  State  had  brought  a  storm  about  his  ears 
by  venturing  to  order  two  thousand  overcoats  for  them  to 
wear  in  case  of  emergency.  But  here  the  very  look  upon 
the  faces  of  the  people  was  different ;  the  air  was  full  of 
menace,  the  bits  of  conversation  one  caught  upon  the 
streets  and  in  the  hotels  had  all  to  do  with  war. 

The  bulletin  boards  in  front  of  the  newspaper  offices 
were  crowded.  There  were  rumors  of  war,  and  rumors  of 
peace,  but  still  no  news.  The  "  Illinois  baboon  "  had  been 
in  office  a  month,  and  had  not  yet  been  able  to  choose  a 
policy  ;  the  balance  still  trembled  and  swayed. 

Allan  took  the  steamer  for  Clarke's  Landing ;  he  was 
glad  to  be  out  of  the  turmoil  —  to  see  the  land  as  he  loved 


THE   STORM  279 

it,  drunk  with  sunlight,  clothed  in  wonder,  endlessly 
peaceful  and  still.  The  river  was  high;  he  could  look 
down  upon  it  over  the  levees  :  at  the  corn  in  tassel,  and  ten 
or  twelve  feet  high ;  at  the  cane,  dazzling  in  its  greenness 
—  there  were  oceans  and  oceans  of  it,  without  a  break, 
without  an  undulation,  far  back  to  the  distant  forests. 
Here  and  there  were  the  villas,  white,  with  green-painted 
blinds,  bosomed  in  trees,  orange  and  lemon  trees,  myrtles 
and  magnolias,  peach  trees,  and  huge  moss -draped  cy- 
presses. Nowhere  was  there  a  sign  of  life  —  the  gangs 
could  not  be  seen  for  the  height  of  the  crops,  and  there 
was  not  a  single  boat  upon  the  river  or  a  horseman  on  the 
road.  The  land  lay  asleep  ;  and  Allan's  soul  cried  out  at 
the  thought  that  it  might  ever  awaken  to  the  crash  of  war. 

He  landed  and  mounted  a  horse  ;  it  was  mid  afternoon, 
the  fields  steaming  with  heat,  but  he  put  it  to  a  gallop. 
He  was  going  to  see  Valley  Hall  once  more  !  To  see  the 
boys,  to  see  Ethel  and  Uncle  Ben !  And  Aunt  Jinny,  and 
Pericles,  and  Taylor  Tibbs !  And  the  horses  and  the  dogs, 
and  the  quarters  and  the  fields  of  cotton !  The  sandy  road 
fled  by  beneath  him,  the  flower-lined  hedges  on  each  side 
of  him — and  so  for  an  hour  or  two,  until  the  landscape 
began  to  grow  familiar,  and  his  heart  to  thump.  This  was 
Major  Potter's  place,  and  there  was  the  road  where  you 
turned  in !  Allan's  thoughts  fled  back  a  dozen  years  or 
more,  to  the  time  when  his  father  had  made  a  political 
speech  there,  at  a  Fourth  of  July  celebration.  How  vivid 
it  all  was !  —  a  thunderstorm  had  burst  in  the  middle  of 
it,  and  Allan  had  wondered  at  the  bad  taste  of  the  powers 
that  managed  thunderstorms.  And  over  in  that  grove  was 
the  Hindses'  house  —  and  beyond  the  slope  were  the  woods 
and  the  bayou,  and  at  the  other  side  the  edge  of  the  Valley 
Hall  plantation,  and  the  little  bridge,  and  the  turn  where 
you  saw  the  house  ! 

He  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  dashed  on,  his  eyes  fixed 
ahead.  A  moment  later  he  started,  as  out  of  the  deeply 
shadowed  archway  of  the  road  came  two  horsemen,  riding 
rapidly ;  they  were  in  uniform,  blue,  with  red  facings. 
One  was  tall  and  mounted  upon  a  great  coal-black  horse  ; 


280  MANASSAS 

the  other  was  smaller  and  rode  a  bay.  Allan's  pulses  began 
to  leap.  He  was  near  enough  to  see  their  swords  shaking 
as  they  rode  —  yes,  there  was  no  mistake — it  was  the  boys  ! 

He  gave  a  yell,  and  waved  his  hand,  and  galloped  down 
upon  them.  They  slowed  up  their  horses,  staring  at  him 
—  didn't  they  know  him  ?  A  moment  or  two  more,  and 
he  reined  up  his  horse  before  them  and  stretched  out  a 
hand  upon  each  side  to  them,  crying,  "  Hello !  " 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  while  he  gazed  at  them. 
Ralph  had  half  reached  out  to  take  his  hand ;  but  Allan's 
eyes  had  been  drawn  toward  'Dolph,  who  sat  erect,  drawn 
back  to  his  full  height.  His  brows  were  knit  —  and  sud- 
denly he  set  his  lips  together,  and  gave  his  horse  a  cut 
that  made  it  leap.  "  Go  to  hell  !  "  he  said,  and  went  by 
like  a  flash,  and  down  the  road.  His  brother  followed. 

They  left  Allan  sitting  motionless,  dazed.  He  turned 
and  watched  them  vanish,  his  heart  beating  like  a  hammer. 
Long  after  they  were  out  of  sight  he  sat  gazing  after  them; 
and  when  he  rode  on  it  was  very  slowly.  He  was  not 
angry — he  was  stunned.  Nothing  that  he  had  ever  seen 
had  seemed  quite  so  much  like  war  as  that. 

By  the  time  that  he  reached  the  turn  in  the  road  he  had 
become  very  sober,  and  felt  in  truth  a  little  like  a  fool. 
He  beat  back  the  emotions  that  rose  in  him  as  he  saw  the 
house  —  he  rode  up  to  it  as  he  would  have  ridden  up  to 
any  other  house. 

There  were  two  people  upon  the  veranda :  one  was  Ethel, 
and  the  other  an  old  colored  woman,  whom  Allan  did  not 
know.  They  were  gazing  at  him.  Allan  saw  that  the 
girl  was  lying  back,  propped  upon  pillows.  She  was  very 
pale,  and  the  negress  was  fanning  her.  Had  she  been 
sick? 

He  rode  near  and  halted  the  horse.  "  How  do  you  do, 
Ethel  ?  "  he  said,  and  raised  his  hat. 

The  girl  started,  and  colored ;  she  half  rose,  and  then 
sank  back.  "  How  do  you  do,  Allan  ?"  she  answered,  in 
a  low  voice.  She  looked  older  —  but  more  beautiful  than 
ever,  it  seemed  to  him. 


THE   STORM  281 

There  was  an  awkward  pause ;  then  she  spoke  to  the 
negress,  "  Mammy,  go  and  tell  some  one  to  come  for  Mr. 
Allan's  horse." 

The  woman  went  away,  and  Ethel  looked  at  him  again. 
"You  have  been  ill ?"  he  asked  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  And  how  is  every  one,  Ethel  ?  " 

"  They  are  all  very  well,"  she  said. 

Again  there  was  a  pause.  It  was  broken  by  an  unex- 
pected sound  from  within  the  house  —  the  crying  of  an 
infant.  Ethel  started,  and  looked  around  her.  "  Mammy !  " 
she  called.  "  Mammy  ! " 

The  colored  woman  came  around  the  corner  of  the 
house,  running ;  she  disappeared  inside.  "  What  is  that  ?" 
Allan  asked,  in  surprise. 

"  It  is  the  baby,"  was  Ethel's  reply. 

He  dismounted,  and  gave  his  horse  to  the  stable-boy, 
who  had  dashed  up  and  stood  staring  and  grinning.  "  How 
are  you,  Tom  ? "  he  said,  nodding  to  him,  and  then  ap- 
proached the  veranda. 

"  You  did  not  know  that  I  was  married?"  Ethel  inquired. 

"  No,"  said  Allan,  "I  did  not  know  it.     How  long,  Ethel?" 

"  More  than  a  year,"  she  said  ;  "  I  married  Billy  Hinds." 

"  Ah,"  said  Allan.  "  Billy "  was  the  young  cavalier 
whose  devotion  at  the  age  of  seventeen  Allan  had  noted 
when  he  last  visited  the  Hall.  "  Where  is  he  ?  "  he  in- 
quired. And  the  girl,  who  had  sunk  back  upon  the  pillows, 
answered  without  turning  her  eyes  upon  him.  "  He  is 
gone  to  the  defence  of  his  country,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

There  was  a  silence.  Allan  knew  not  what  to  reply  — 
but  suddenly  the  girl  started  up,  staring  at  him.  "  Allan," 
she  cried,  —  "  how  can  you  bear  it?" 

"  Bear  what,  Ethel  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Bear  this  —  all  of  this  —  this  frightful  situation  ?  How 
can  you  bear  to  see  it,  and  know  that  you  are  the  cause 
of  it  ?  " 

"  I,  Ethel  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  in  perplexity. 

The  girl  half  raised  one  trembling  hand  toward  him. 
"You  —  you!"  she  cried.  "Who  is  to  blame  but  just 


282  MANASSAS 

such  cruel  and  wicked  men  as  you  ?  Men  who  hate  us  — 
who  cannot  leave  us  in  peace  —  who  have  hounded  us  out 
of  the  Union  and  now  want  to  hound  us  back  !  " 

The  blood  had  mounted  into  her  cheeks  as  she  spoke,  and 
her  nostrils  quivered  with  her  agitation  ;  Ethel's  eyes 
were  very  big  and  black,  and  now  they  were  fixed  upon 
Allan's  face  with  a  wild  look.  "  I  wonder  that  you  can 
come  down  here  !  "  she  rushed  on,  impetuously.  "  Why 
have  you  come  ?  Is  it  to  gloat  over  the  misery  you  have 
caused  —  is  it  any  pleasure  to  you  to  know  that  my  hus- 
band had  barely  an  hour  to  gaze  upon  his  new-born  babe, 
before  he  had  to  go  away  to  prepare  for  a  war  ?  And  now 
he  is  ill  at  New  Orleans  —  and  I  am  here,  and  must  see 
my  two  brothers  start  to-morrow  !  Go  among  the  people 
around  here,  people  who  once  loved  you  —  why,  you  will 
scarcely  find  a  family  upon  whom  some  such  sorrow  has 
not  fallen  !  " 

Allan  stood,  with  his  eyes  lowered,  silent  before  this 
unexpected  outburst ;  there  was  bitter  anguish  in  the 
girl's  voice,  and  he  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  her.  "  I 
cannot  help  it,  Ethel,"  he  began  at  last ;  but  she  cut  him 
short. 

"  You  can,  you  can  !  "  she  cried.  "  You  could  have 
helped  it  all  along  —  you  and  those  who  think  like  you,  I 
mean  —  who  care  more  for  a  lot  of  miserable  negroes  than 
about  their  own  countrymen  !  You  can  help  it  now  — 
you  can  take  your  soldiers  out  of  our  States,  you  can  go 
your  own  way  and  let  us  go  ours.  We  do  not  ask  for 
anything  else,  we  never  have  asked  for  it  —  we  want  you 
to  leave  us  alone  !  And  what  right  have  you  — 

"  Ethel  !  "  said  a  voice,  suddenly,  "  you  were  not  to  ex- 
cite yourself." 

Allan  turned.  It  was  his  uncle,  standing  in  the  door- 
way. The  girl  stopped  and  glanced  round  ;  she  hesi- 
tated a  moment,  as  if  meaning  to  answer — then  she  sank 
back  without  another  word.  Her  hands  fell  to  her  sides, 
limply ;  and  she  closed  her  eyes  with  a  low  moan. 

There  was  an  uncomfortable  pause.  "How  do  you  do, 
Uncle  Hamilton  ?  "  said  Allan,  at  last. 


THE  STORM  283 

Mr.  Montague  bowed  gravely.  "I  thank  you/'  he  said, 
and  again  there  was  a  silence.  ' '  I  will  see  you  in  the  office, 
Allan,  if  you  like/'  he  remarked,  finally. 

Allan  bowed,  and  turned  without  a  word  to  follow  him. 
As  he  did  so  he  noticed  that  the  negroes  were  thronged 
upon  the  lawn,  staring  with  open  mouths ;  they  had  come 
rushing  up  to  greet  him,  and  now  stood  amazed  at  what 
was  taking  place. 

The  two  entered  the  room,  and  Mr.  Montague  pointed 
to  a  chair.  He  seated  himself  by  his  desk,  and  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  his  nephew.  "I  suppose,"  he  began 
abruptly,  "that  you  have  come  to  take  possession  of  your 
property. ' ' 

"Yes,  Uncle  Hamilton,"  Allan  answered. 

"Ah!"  said  his  uncle.  And  suddenly  he  clenched  his 
hand  upon  the  edge  of  the  desk,  and  bent  his  gaze  upon 
Allan.  "It  is  not  a  pleasant  duty,"  he  said,  "and  the 
sooner  it  is  over  the  better.  I  have  to  tell  you  that  you 
have  come  to  no  purpose." 

Allan  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  * t  To  no  purpose ! "  he 
echoed. 

' '  You  cannot  have  the  property, ' '  said  Mr.  Montague. 

The  other  gave  a  start  and  his  face  reddened.  "I  do 
not  understand  you,"  he  said.  "The  property  belongs  to 
me." 

"It  would  have  belonged  to  you,"  the  other  replied,  "if 
you  had  not  chosen  to  league  yourself  with  the  enemies  of 
your  country." 

"Oh,"  responded  Allan,  and  continued  to  stare  for  a 
moment  or  two.  "You  must  explain  to  me,  Uncle  Ham- 
ilton," he  said  at  last;  "I  really  don't  know  quite  what 
you  mean." 

Mr.  Montague  gazed  at  him  for  a  space.  "What  I  mean 
is,"  he  said,  finally,  "that  after  carefully  considering  it, 
I  have  concluded  that  it  would  be  a  wrong  for  me  to  allow 
any  part  of  the  resources  of  this  State  to  pass  at  such  a 
time  as  this  into  the  hands  of  its  enemies ;  and,  in  particular, 
to  allow  any  of  the  enemies  of  our  domestic  institution  an 
opportunity  to  interfere  in  its  affairs.  Therefore  I  have 


284  MANASSAS 

decided  to  remain  in  possession  of  Valley  Hall  for  the 
present. ' ' 

Allan  drew  a  long  breath.  "I  see,"  he  said.  "And 
the  law?" 

"I  do  not  think,"  said  Mr.  Montague,  "that  you  would 
be  wise  to  appeal  to  the  law  in  the  matter." 

The  young  man  flushed  slightly — startled  by  the  tone 
even  more  than  by  the  words.  "That  is  a  threat?"  he 
asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"No, ' '  was  the  response,  " it  is  merely  a  friendly  counsel. ' ' 

There  was  a  pause. 

"You  have  always  been  a  gentleman,  Uncle  Hamilton," 
said  Allan,  at  last. 

"I  have  been  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  defend  my 
actions,"  was  the  response.  "In  this  case  I  am  willing  to 
explain  that  I  am  not  acting  for  myself,  but  simply  for 
my  State.  The  revenues  which  may  accrue  in  the  matter 
will  be  at  the  State's  disposal — as  also  is  the  property,  of 
course.  There  is  now  before  the  Congress  in  Montgomery 
a  bill  dismissing  all  law  cases  in  the  interest  of  Northern 
parties ;  and  it  will  not  be  many  days  after  the  first  stroke 
of  war,  I  fancy,  before  all  debts  due  to  Northerners,  and 
all  property  belonging  to  them,  will  be  sequestered.  That 
will  cover  the  case." 

"I  see,"  said  Allan,  and  added,  "You  take  the  liberty 
of  anticipating  the  law." 

"In  which,"  was  the  other's  response,  "I  follow  the  best 
of  precedents.  I  am  merely  holding,  in  the  expectation  of 
a  war,  a  fort  which  I  happen  to  possess,  but  to  which  I  have 
no  other  right." 

The  irony  was  subtle.  "And  if  the  war  should  not 
come?"  Allan  demanded. 

"In  that  case,"  said  his  uncle,  "I  should  have  neither 
the  right  nor  the  wish  to  deprive  you  of  your  property. 
Just  as  soon  as  the  questions  at  issue  are  settled  to  the 
satisfaction  of  my  country,  I  shall  make  you  an  offer  for 
your  share  in  the  estate ;  and  if  you  do  not  care  to  accept 
that,  I  shall  cause  it  to  be  sold,  and  transmit  to  you  half 
of  the  proceeds. ' ' 


THE  STORM  285 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Allan  sat  motionless,  his 
heart  beating  fast.  Assuredly,  this  was  bringing  the 
political  situation  very  close  "to  men's  business  and 
bosoms."  He  was  filled  with  dismay — but  then  his  pride 
spoke,  and  he  swallowed  his  feelings.  He  rose  suddenly 
to  his  feet  and  stood  very  straight,  gazing  at  Mr.  Mon- 
tague. 

"Uncle  Hamilton,"  he  said,  his  voice  low,  "you  hold 
my  portion  of  this  plantation  through  my  father's  trust  in 
you;  and  I  do  not  believe  that  you  are  keeping  faith  with 
him  now.  But  you  have  the  power,  I  perceive;  and  you 
will  not  be  troubled  with  any  words  from  me.  If  you  will 
be  so  good  as  to  order  my  horse  for  me,  I  will  go/' 

And  then  the  two  exchanged  a  stately  bow,  and  went 
out.  The  veranda  was  deserted;  Ethel  had  taken  the 
opportunity  to  disappear,  and  only  the  negroes  upon  the 
lawn  remained  staring.  Allan  stood  waiting  until  his 
horse  came  down  the  road. 

Taylor  Tibbs  was  leading  it;  and  the  little  yellow  man, 
who  had  evidently  not  heard  that  there  was  anything 
wrong,  was  wild  with  delight.  "Marse  Allan!"  he  cried, 
and  rushed,  horse  and  all,  to  embrace  his  young  master. 
But  there  came  a  stern  voice  behind  Allan,  '  *  Tibbs ! ' ' 

And  Tibbs  halted  and  stared  in  wonder.  "Go  to  the 
stables,  sir, ' '  Mr.  Montague  commanded,  and  came  forward 
and  took  the  rein  himself.  Tibbs  put  his  hand  to  his  fore- 
head, in  a  dazed  way,  and  turned  to  go;  he  made  not  a 
sound,  but  his  form  shook  as  he  walked. 

Mr.  Montague  held  the  horse  in  silence,  while  Allan 
mounted;  then  their  eyes  met,  and  he  bowed  in  response 
to  Allan's  "Good  afternoon."  The  young  man  touched 
his  horse  and  rode  slowly  away,  without  once  turning* 
his  head — without  even  a  last  glance  at  Valley  Hall. 

He  could  not  hold  himself  thus  for  very  long,  however. 
Down  the  avenue  he  put  his  horse  to  a  trot,  and  when  he 
had  turned  the  corner  and  was  out  of  sight,  he  leaned  for- 
ward and  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks.  He  cared  nothing 
about  the  money — but  how  could  they  be  so  unkind  ?  Per- 

19 


286  MANASSAS 

haps  he  had  been  a  fool ;  but  all  the  old-time  memories  had 
rushed  over  him  and  made  his  heart  soft,  and  their  blows 
had  struck  doubly  deep. 

So  he  went  on,  without  heeding  where  he  went.  The 
road  took  a  turn  after  you  crossed  the  bridge,  and  passed 
near  the  Hall,  though  you  could  not  see  it  for  the  forest. 
Suddenly  Allan  was  startled  to  hear  a  crashing  in  the 
thicket;  and  turning,  he  was  just  in  time  to  see  a  negro 
rush  out  upon  the  road  behind  him.  It  was  Taylor  Tibbs. 

The  man  was  breathless,  and  his  face  scratched  by  the 
briers.  ' '  Marse  Allan ! "  he  panted.  ' '  Marse  Allan ! ' ' 

Allan  wheeled  his  horse.  " Tibbs,"  he  cried,  "go 
back!  They  will  see  you!" 

"I  don't  care  if  dey  does,  Marse  Allan!"  gasped  Tibbs. 
"I  had  to  see  yo' — I  couldn't  let  yo'  go  'way  without  see- 
ing yo'!" 

"They  will  punish  you!"  the  other  exclaimed. 

"Dey  kin  only  whip  me,"  said  Tibbs,  stubbornly,  and 
he  caught  Allan's  hand.  "Dey  send  you  away!"  he 
cried  wildly.  "But  Marse  Allan,  we  loves  you  still!" 

Allan  was  silent  for  a  moment,  deeply  stirred.  "Tibbs," 
he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "I  meant  to  free  you — I  honestly 
meant  to  free  you!  Ajid  now  to  have  to  leave  you  to  be 
slaves  forever ! ' ' 

'  '  But  we 's  gwine  to  git  free,  Marse  Allan ! ' '  cried  Tibbs, 
breathlessly. 

Allan  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "I  cannot  free  you," 
he  said. 

"I  don't  mean  yo',  Marse  Allan!"  exclaimed  the  other 
in  excitement.  ' '  But  we 's  gwine  to  git  free !  We 's  gwine 
to  git  free!" 

1 '  How  do  you  mean,  boy  ?    Who  will  free  you  ? ' ' 

"Massa  Linkum  gwine  free  us,  Marse  Allan!" 

Allan  stared.    "Hey?"  he  cried,  amazed. 

"Massa  Linkum  —  he's  a-comin'  to  free  de  niggers!" 
cried  Tibbs,  his  eyes  shining. 

"Who  told  you  that?"  demanded  Allan. 

"Everybody  say  it,  Marse  Allan  —  de  niggers  all  knows 
it,  dey  done  find  it  out,  Marse  Allan ! ' ' 


THE  STORM  287 

The  other  continued  staring  at  him.  "No,  Tibbs,"  he 
said,  shaking  his  head,  "Lincoln  is  not  coming  to  free 
you.  God  knows  I  wish  he  could,  but  he  has  no  more 
way  of  freeing  you  than  I  have. ' ' 

But  all  that  Allan  said  made  no  difference  to  the  little 
yellow  man  —  who  kept  on  obstinately  declaring,  "Massa 
Linkum  gwine  free  us!"  The  poor  fellow  had  evidently 
made  the  strange  belief  into  a  religion;  and  the  other  had 
not  the  heart  to  reason  with  him.  There  was  a  choking 
in  his  throat  as  he  pressed  Tibbs's  hand.  "Good-by,"  he 
whispered;  "good-by!  And  now  go,  before  they  see  you; 
and  God  bless  you,  Tibbs. ' ' 

He  rode  blindly,  without  once  looking  about  him.  What 
a  strange  idea  was  that,  and  how  infinitely  tragic!  To 
fancy  those  wretched  people,  doomed  to  a  life  of  murderous 
toil,  hugging  in  their  souls  such  a  dream!  The  "slave- 
hound  of  Illinois"  coming  down  to  set  them  free!  Evi- 
dently the  negroes  of  Valley  Hall  had  not  yet  read  the 
Inaugural. 

Allan's  horse  had  taken  the  road  toward  Woodville; 
and  he  first  came  out  of  his  revery  when  he  heard  another 
horse  approaching.  Looking  up,  he  saw  the  rider  coming 
over  a  hill  in  front  of  him,  and  he  recognized  Mr.  Handy. 

Allan  bit  his  lips  together,  and  fixed  his  eyes  in  front 
of  him,  preparing  for  another  rebuff;  but  the  old  gentle- 
man came  up,  crying  out  with  delight,  and  holding  out 
both  his  hands.  "Why,  Allan!"  he  exclaimed. 

He  was  fatter  and  rounder  than  ever;  his  nose  was 
redder,  too,  the  young  man  thought,  but  his  little  eyes 
still  twinkled  as  brightly  as  in  the  old  days.  Mr.  Handy 
had  never  been  a  "fire-eater,"  his  nephew  recollected  with 
relief.  "How  are  you,  Uncle  Ben?"  he  cried,  reining  up 
his  horse. 

"You  are  leaving  so  soon?"  asked  Mr.  Handy. 

"I  was  not  invited  to  stay,"  the  other  answered  dryly. 

"I  know,  I  know,"  was  the  reply.  "Hamilton  told  me 
what  he  was  going  to  do.  It's  too  bad — too  bad — I  told 
him  it  was  a  shame." 


288  MANASSAS 

"You  don't  feel  quite  as  stirred  up,  then?"  Allan 
inquired. 

"I'm  not  one  of  the  agitators,  Allan,"  the  other  an- 
swered. "You  ought  to  know  me — it's  you  violent  people 
on  both  sides  who  are  making  the  trouble.  God  knows 
you'll  do  the  fighting,  if  there  is  any,  so  far  as  I'm  con- 
cerned. ' ' 

Allan  could  not  forbear  a  smile;  how  many  political 
quarrels  he  had  heard  the  old  gentleman  pacify  with  his* 
doctrines  of  common  sense  and  mint-juleps!  "I'm  sorry 
I  didn't  meet  you  first,  Uncle  Ben,"  he  said,  laughing 
suddenly — "so  that  I  could  have  been  forewarned." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  "What  are  you  going  to 
do?"  asked  the  other. 

"In  what  way?" 

"As  to  the  property?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Allan.  "I  suppose  I  shall  sue,  as 
a  matter  of  form." 

' '  From  Boston,  I  hope  ? ' '  observed  Mr.  Handy. 

"Why?"  asked  the  other.  And  the  old  gentleman 
gazed  at  him  a  moment,  and  then  put  his  hand  on  his  arm. 
"Listen,  Allan,"  he  said.  "I  don't  believe  you  are  even 
armed,  are  you  ? ' ' 

"Armed!"  echoed  the  other.    "Of  course  not.    Why?" 

"You're  probably  the  only  white  man  in  the  State  that 
is  not,  for  one  thing,"  was  Mr.  Handy 's  answer. 

"I  don't  mean  to  trouble  any  one,"  said  Allan. 

' '  That 's  not  it, ' '  replied  the  other.  * '  Listen  to  me,  sonny 
— I  always  liked  you,  and  I'm  only  speaking  for  your 
good.  Take  my  advice,  and  don't  stay  'round  here  any 
great  time — and  don't  do  any  talking,  here  or  anywheres 
else,  until  you  're  North  again. ' ' 

Allan  was  looking  at  him  in  surprise.  '  '  Why  should  any 
one  bother  me  ? "  he  cried. 

"You  don't  know,"  said  Uncle  Ben — "the  country's 
terribly  stirred  up.  Holding  Abolition  views  has  been 
made  a  penal  offence  now — and  not  only  that,  but  the 
crowds  are  apt  to  be  violent.  I  have  heard  of  objectionable 
people  being  tarred  and  feathered,  and  beaten,  and  even 


THE  STORM  289 

hung,  once  or  twice.  So  I  beg  of  you,  don't  try  to  make 
any  trouble  about  the  business  of  the  property  around, 
here." 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  Mr.  Handy  went  on — "I 
wouldn  't  even  go  through  Woodville,  if  I  were  you,  Allan ; 
I  met  the  boys  in  there,  and  they  told  me  they'd  seen  you. 
And  'Dolph 's  excitable,  you  know,  and  he's  been  drinking 
to-day,  besides,  and  he's  probably  talked  some.  You  really 
have  no  idea  of  how  the  crowd  about  here  is  worked  up ! " 

Allan  had  been  eyeing  his  uncle  steadily.  "I  really 
think,  Uncle  Ben,"  he  said,  at  last,  "that  I  have  behaved, 
myself  very  well,  on  the  whole — as  well  as  any  one  has  a 
right  to  expect.  And  I  don't  believe  now  that  I  care  to 
run  away  from  'Dolph." 

Mr.  Handy  went  on  to  protest,  but  Allan  only  shook 
his  head.  Then  suddenly  he  stopped  and  sat  listening. 
There  were  hoof  beats  down  the  road,  approaching.  Two 
horsemen  came  round  the  turn.  "Here  they  are  now," 
said  Mr.  Handy,  in  a  low  voice. 

Instinctively  he  moved  somewhat  in  front  of  Allan; 
Allan  sat  motionless,  gazing  at  the  approaching  riders. 
They  had  slowed  their  horses,  involuntarily,  and  were 
coming  on  at  a  walk. 

The  situation  was  an  awkward  one,  and  Allan  could  see 
that  Randolph's  face  was  flushed.  Not  wishing  to  return 
his  stare,  he  turned  his  eyes  away.  He  brought  them  back 
again  a  moment  later,  however — for  his  cousin  had  touched 
his  horse,  and  was  bounding  straight  toward  him.  He 
halted  at  his  side. 

"Did  you  get  what  you  wanted?"  he  demanded. 

Allan  looked  at  him,  but  did  not  answer.  Ralph  rode 
up  quickly  and  placed  his  horse  between  the  two.  "Now, 
'Dolph!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Let  me  alone!"  cried  the  other,  angrily.  "Get  out  of 
my  way!  What  does  he  want  down  here,  anyway?  Does 
he  think  we're  going  to  let  any  damned  Abolitionist  walk 
off  with  our  niggers  and  not  say  a  thing?  What — " 

Mr.  Handy,  who  had  also  driven  his  horse  in  to  the  group, 
caught  'Dolph  by  the  arm.  "Now,  see  here!"  he  cried. 


290  MANASSAS 

' '  Don 't  be  a  fool  —  you  are  forgetting  yourself,  'Dolph ! ' * 

1  i  Take  your  hand  off  me ! ' '  the  other  exclaimed,  and  tore 
his  arm  loose  with  a  fierce  gesture.  At  the  same  time 
he  gave  his  brother's  horse  a  slash  with  his  whip  that 
made  it  leap  back  out  of  his  way.  Then  he  shook  the 
whip  in  Allan's  face.  "What  did  you  come  down  here 
for,  confound  you!"  he  shouted.  "Why  don't  you  stay 
where  you  belong  —  hey?  You  think  we'll  have  any 
Yankee  spies  around  us — " 

'Dolph 's  face  was  wild  with  fury,  and  his  eyes  shone. 
Old  Mr.  Handy  had  seized  him  again,  and  now  his  brother 
flung  himself  from  his  horse,  and  leaped  toward  him. 
There  was  a  sharp  scuffle,  Ralph  trying  to  hold  his  arm. 
' '  'Dolph ! "  he  cried  passionately  — ' '  don 't  you  know  what 
father  said  to  you  —  don't  you  know  what  you  promised 
him  ?  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself ! ' ' 

"Ashamed  of  hell!"  yelled  'Dolph.  "What  does  he 
take  me  for?  What'd  he  come  for,  if  he  wasn't  looking 
for  trouble?" 

"Allan,"  cried  Mr.  Handy,  "go  on!  Why  don't  you 
go  on  ? " 

The  three  were  almost  in  a  fight,  but  before  Allan  the 
road  was  clear.  He  hesitated  a  moment.  Then  he  started 
his  horse. 

He  had  not  said  a  word,  and  he  did  not  say  one  now, 
but  rode  slowly  away.  All  the  time  behind  him  he  heard 
his  cousin  cursing  like  a  trooper  as  he  tried  to  get  free. 
Allan  did  not  turn  his  head.  "Go  on,  you  coward!" 
yelled  'Dolph.  "That's  like  a  Yankee  —  go  on!  But 
don't  you  think  you'll  get  away  from  us  —  we'll  be  up 
there  after  you,  don 't  you  make  any  mistake !  Ask  when 
you  get  in  town  there,  and  you'll  find  out  the  news  — 
you  can  get  ready  for  a  fight!  You've  got  to  fight, 
God  damn  you,  you've  got  to  fight,  whether  you  want  to 
or  not!" 

And  that  was  the  last  Allan  heard  as  he  rounded  the  turn. 

He  sent  his  horse  on  at  a  gallop,  and  rode  on,  his  heart 
beating  fast.  "Ask  when  you  get  in  town  there,  and 


THE  STORM  291 

you'll  find  out  the  news!"  What  had  Randolph  meant, 
and  what  was  it  that  had  so  excited  him?  Allan  found 
himself  thinking  about  that  more  than  about  all  the  rest. 

He  came  to  the  main  street  of  Woodville.  The  court- 
house bell  was  ringing,  and  he  saw  people  hurrying  in  that 
direction,  and  put  the  spurs  to  his  horse.  It  was  just  sunset 
—  one  would  have  expected  to  find  the  occupants  of  Wood- 
ville's  aristocratic  villas  upon  their  verandas;  but  the 
houses  seemed  empty  —  the  doors  standing  wide  open. 
He  galloped  on  and  came  in  sight  of  the  court-house 
square.  Here  there  was  a  military  encampment  —  the 
place  was  white  with  tents,  and  a  battery  of  artillery  was 
in  front  of  them,  and  the  " stars  and  bars"  waving  above. 
Directly  before  the  building  was  an  immense  crowd  — 
here  was  where  all  the  town  had  come.  Some  one  was 
making  a  speech  —  as  Allan  approached  he  could  catch 
snatches  of  the  voice  between  the  strokes  of  the  bell  and 
the  frantic  roaring  of  the  crowd. 

A  man  dashed  out  from  a  store,  bareheaded;  he 
passed  near  Allan,  who  jerked  up  his  horse  and  cried, 
"What's  the  matter?" 

"It's  Sumter!"  the  man  answered.  "The  Yankees 
are  going  to  reenforce  it!  They've  got  word  about  it  at 
Charleston!" 


CHAPTER  II 

ALLAN  went  back  to  New  Orleans  that  night,  pacing  the 
deck  of  the  steamer  and  chewing  the  cud  of  bitter  reflec- 
tion. What  a  blow  in  the  face  his  visit  had  gotten  him ! 

Allan  knew  little  of  the  value  of  money  —  having  always 
had  more  than  he  needed  —  and  it  was  not  so  much  the  loss 
of  his  property.  Nor  was  it  his  disappointment  at  the 
failure  of  his  plans ;  the  misery  of  the  negroes  of  Valley  Hall 
seemed  a  trivial  matter  in  comparison  with  the  significance 
of  what  he  had  experienced — the  light  which  it  threw  upon 
the  temper  of  the  people.  It  had  exceeded  anything  that  he 
had  dreamed ;  and  as  for  the  North  —  what  would  its 
awakening  be ! 

The  news  which  he  had  heard  at  Woodville  proved  to 
be  no  mere  rumor.  It  developed  that  the  "Washington 
government  had  sent  word  to  Charleston  that  it  intended 
to  provision  the  fort  —  "peaceably,"  as  it  said,  that  is  by 
an  unarmed  vessel.  In  New  Orleans  there  was  wild 
excitement,  a  regiment  having  just  been  ordered  to 
assemble  and  hold  itself  in  readiness.  Allan  had  in- 
tended to  return  North  by  steamer,  but  this  news  changed 
his  plans,  and  decided  him  to  travel  by  land,  and  pass 
through  Charleston. 

He  left  New  Orleans  the  same  morning,  by  the  steamer 
for  Mobile.  The  trip  was  the  same  one  he  had  taken  with 
his  father  eleven  years  before;  it  took  a  day  and  a  night 
—  first  through  Lake  Pontehartrain,  and  then  along  the 
coast  of  the  Gulf,  or  rather  the  narrow  passage  inside  the 
reefs,  beyond  which  one  could  see  the  surf,  snow-white, 
through  endless  pine  trees.  On  the  other  side  the  land 
was  so  cut  up  with  bayous  that  no  one  saw  little  sail-boats 
apparently  skimming  through  green  meadows. 

At  dawn  they  came  into  Mobile  Bay,  where,  at  the 

292 


THE  STOKM  293 

entrance,  were  two  recently  taken  forts,  with  the  flag  of 
the  new  Confederacy  above  them.  In  Mobile  also  there 
were  troops  in  all  the  squares,  and  the  din  of  preparation 
in  the  air.  Here  the  news  was  that  a  reply  had  been  sent 
to  Washington,  to  the  effect  that  the  proposed  attempt 
would  be  resisted.  War  vessels  which  had  long  been  fit- 
ting out  in  New  York  were  now  on  the  point  of  sailing 
for  Charleston. 

The  steamer  which  went  up  the  river  to  Montgomery 
was  called  the  Southern  Republic,  a  significant  name; 
it  had  borne  it  for  a  long  time,  a  fact  which  was  more 
significant  still.  Allan  heard  it  said  that  the  Irishman 
who  was  the  captain  of  the  Southern  Republic  boasted 
that  he  had  built  it  of  the  proceeds  of  a  lucky  stroke  in 
the  African  trade.  It  looked  like  a  big  three-storied  house, 
and  upon  its  deck  was  a  " steam  calliope,"  which  played 
" Dixie"  at  every  landing.  The  banks  of  the  chocolate- 
colored  Alabama  were  so  high  that  nothing  of  the  country 
could  be  seen;  but  there  was  always  a  crowd  at  the  tops 
of  the  long  stairways  to  listen  to  the  music  and  cheer. 

The  trip  took  two  days  —  Allan  landed  in  Montgomery 
early  in  the  morning,  the  tenth  of  April.  He  bought  a 
paper  and  ran  through  it  eagerly. 

Events  were  marching.  United  States  vessels  were  re- 
ported off  the  bar  at  Charleston,  and  Fort  Sumter  wa£ 
exchanging  signals  with  them.  Four  regiments  had  been 
telegraphed  for  from  the  country — and  President  Davis  had 
called  upon  the  State  of  Alabama  for  three  thousand  men. 

At  midnight  Charleston  had  been  roused  by  the  firing 
of  signal  guns,  calling  out  the  reserves ;  all  night  long  the 
streets  of  the  city  had  echoed  with  the  rolling  of  drums 
and  the  galloping  of  cavalry  —  there  were  said  to  be  seven 
thousand  men  and  one  hundred  and  forty  cannon  now  sur- 
rounding the  fort.  The  Charleston  Mercury  of  the  previ- 
ous day  was  quoted,  to  the  effect  that  the  announcement 
from  ' l  Lincoln 's  government ' '  was  to  be  taken  as  a  declara- 
tion of  war.  ' '  The  gauge  is  thrown  down, ' '  ran  the  article, 
"and  the  God  of  battles  must  decide  the  issue  between  the 
hostile  hirelings  of  Abolition  hate  and  Northern  tyranny, 


294  MANASSAS 

and  the  people  of  South  Carolina  defending  their  freedom 
and  their  homes ! ' ' 

It  was  furthermore  reported  that  President  Davis  and 
his  cabinet  were  now  in  continuous  session,  discussing  the 
final  and  irrevocable  step  of  war.  Allan  started,  realizing 
that  it  was  here,  where  he  stood,  that  this  was  being  done ; 
he  gazed  about  him  again,  the  hot  and  dusty  little  city- 
becoming  suddenly  a  place  of  romance.  The  streets  of 
Montgomery  were  filled  as  they  never  had  been  in  their 
history  before,  and  tingling  with  excitement  —  one  drew 
it  in  with  the  very  air  he  breathed.  Allan  went  to  the 
hotel,  which  he  found  so  crowded  that  he  could  scarcely 
get  inside  the  door.  Here  were  the  headquarters  of  all 
the  politicians  and  office-seekers  of  seven  States,  to  say 
nothing  of  contractors,  speculators,  gamblers,  sightseers, 
and  military  men.  Already,  before  breakfast,  they  were 
up  and  doing;  in  the  dining  room  the  uproar  was  such 
that  one  scarcely  heard  a  company  of  soldiers  that  passed 
outside,  in  spite  of  their  screaming  fife  and  rattling 
drum. 

After  breakfast  Allan  strolled  up  to  the  Capitol :  a  white 
marble  building  in  the  usual  Graeco-American  style,  stand- 
ing upon  an  elevation  and  towering  high  above  all  the 
city.  Here,  also,  were  military  encampments  and  the  blare 
of  military  music;  even  that  early,  people  were  thronging 
to  the  chamber  where  the  Congress  met. 

Allan  entered  also  and  waited  for  a  view  of  the  assem- 
bly. These  were  the  men  who  had  done  this  deed ;  and  it 
seemed  hard  to  believe  that  they  could  look  like  other 
men.  He  watched  them,  listening  meanwhile  to  a  vener- 
able clergyman  who  prayed  confusion  upon  their  enemies, 
after  the  ancient  fashion  of  the  British  hymn : — 

"Confound  their  politics, 

Frustrate    their    knavish    tricks; 
On  Thee  our  hopes  we  fix, 
God  save  us  all!  " 

They  were  big,  broad-shouldered  men,  these  legislators, 
dressing  for  the  most  part  in  extreme  Southern  fashion, 


THE  STORM  295 

with  wide  hats  and  large,  flowing  ties  and  conspicuous 
collars.  Allan  noticed  that  they  all  seemed  to  chew  to- 
bacco. Their  presiding  officer  was  a  Mr.  Howell  Cobb  of 
Georgia,  a  stout-faced,  benevolent-looking  old  gentleman, 
with  a  full  gray  beard.  Mr.  Cobb  was  one  of  the  big 
men  of  the  south — he  had  been  Buchanan's  Secretary  of 
the  Treasury,  and  owned  a  million  dollars'  worth  of 
niggers. 

The  business  of  the  session  proved  to  be  routine,  and 
after  a  while  Allan  strolled  out  again  and  fell  to  wander- 
ing aimlessly.  He  was  racked  with  the  uncertainty  of  the 
hour.  He  came  to  the  fountain  which  stood  in  the  centre 
of  the  avenue  leading  to  the  Capitol,  and  where  there  was 
a  crowd  gathered  about  a  man  who  was  auctioning  off  a 
negro — a  poor,  half-starved-looking  old  man,  with  all  his 
belongings  tied  up  in  a  bandanna  handkerchief  and  fastened 
to  a  stick.  "Only  seven  hundred  dollars/'  the  man,  a  dis- 
sipated-looking Irishman,  was  crying;  and  then  he  raised 
his  voice  to  attract  the  passers-by;  "only  seven  hundred 
dollars  for  this  nigger !  As  f oine,  able-bodied  a  field-hand, 
gintlemen — " 

Allan  had  stopped  for  a  moment,  watching ;  and  the  man, 
chancing  to  catch  his  eye,  beckoned  to  him  invitingly. 
"Will  you  look  at  this  bargain,  sir?"  he  inquired.  The 
loungers  turned  to  stare  at  Allan,  and  he  wheeled  and  strode 
away,  his  cheeks  hot. 

He  went  on  down  the  street,  his  head  bent  upon  the 
ground :  until  suddenly,  as  he  chanced  to  look  up,  he  ob- 
served just  ahead  of  him  a  gentleman  whose  figure  seemed 
to  him  strangely  familiar.  The  gentleman  was  small  and 
slightly  built,  and  walked  feebly,  but  with  stiff,  military 
carriage;  Allan  increased  his  pace — yes,  surely  he  was  not 
mistaken,  it  was  Mr.  Davis ! 

Allan  felt  his  heart  leaping.  All  his  waiting,  his  fevered 
anxiety — and  there  walked  the  man,  the  man  upon  whose 
shoulders  the  thing  rested,  by  whose  nod  it  was  to  be  de- 
cided. And  as  he  was  waiting,  so  were  thirty  millions 
of  others — hoping  and  dreading,  and  all  looking  to  him. 
Happiness  or  misery,  life  or  death  for  how  many  of  them — 


296  MANASSAS 

all  depending  upon  him.  It  came  over  Allan  like  a  vision 
— his  thoughts  sped  out  into  the  far  spaces  of  it :  into  the 
yawning  caverns  of  the  future,  where,  in  the  brooding  dark- 
ness, the  unknown  fates  sat  hiding. — And  then,  in  an  in- 
stant, it  was  all  gone,  and  again  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
this  little  gentleman  in  front  of  him.  Perhaps  even  now 
he  was  going  to  decide — perhaps  he  had  decided  already. 
The  hand  which  swung  there  at  his  side — perhaps  it  had 
already  started  the  machine — had  fired  the  train  that  was 
to  plunge  a  continent  into  war. 

— So  on,  until  they  came  to  the  corner,  where  stood  a 
large  brick  building  with  a  Confederate  flag  above  it — 
the  "State  Department/*  The  president  ascended  the 
two  or  three  steps — and  as  he  did  so  happened  to  glance 
down  the  street.  He  noticed  Allan,  and  his  eyes  halted. 

The  young  man  raised  his  hat.  "How  do  you  do,  Mr. 
Davis?"  he  said. 

Mr.  Davis  returned  his  bow,  studying  him  closely. 
"Your  face  is  familiar,"  he  began — 

"My  name  is  Montague,"  Allan  said.  "I  am  Captain 
Montague's  son." 

"Harry  Montague's  son!"  cried  the  other.  "Why — 
sure  enough ! ' '  And  he  came  down  a  step,  and  held  out 
his  hand.  "How  long  it  has  been  since  I  have  seen  you!" 
he  exclaimed. 

"Eleven  years  ago,"  Allan  replied;  "in  Washington." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Davis,  "I  remember.  And  then  your 
father's  death.  Where  are  you  living,  Allan  ? " 

* '  I  live  in  Boston  still, ' '  was  the  reply. 

The  other  looked  surprised.  ' '  In  Boston ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"You  have  come  home  now,  I  suppose?"  he  added. 

"No,"  Allan  answered.    "I  still  live  in  Boston." 

He  was  watching  closely,  and  thought  he  saw  a  shadow 
cross  Mr.  Davis 's  face.  Had  he  heard  the  story,  and 
just  recollected  it?  "The  South  has  need  of  all  her  sons, 
Allan,"  he  said  gravely.  He  was  half  turned,  and  seemed 
upon  the  point  of  saying  a  word  of  parting.  A  sudden 
impulse  seized  Allan;  his  hand  had  been  upon  the  rail- 
ing of  the  steps,  and  he  leaned  forward,  stretching  it  out 


THE  STORM  297 

imploringly.  "God  grant  you  wisdom,  Mr.  Davis/'  he 
whispered. 

The  other  paused,  startled  by  the  words.  He  looked 
into  Allan's  eyes,  and  his  soul  seemed  to  come  suddenly 
into  his  face.  He  was  very  thin  from  sickness — his  fea- 
tures were  haggard,  and  furrowed  by  care.  "My  boy," 
he  said,  his  voice  low  and  trembling,  ' '  if  He  does  not,  it  is 
not  because  I  have  not  asked  Him." 

And  then — Allan  scarcely  knew  how — he  was  gone, 
and  the  door  of  the  building  had  shut. 

The  young  man  turned  away,  quivering.  How  that 
look  had  shot  through  him ! 

There  had  been  times  of  late  years  when  he  had  hated 
Jefferson  Davis — hated  him  with  a  bitter  hatred.  But 
for  him  this  everlasting  horror  could  never  have  been — it 
was  of  his  making  more  than  any  other  living  person's 
— his  vehemence,  his  eloquence,  his  ability,  had  carried  it 
through.  And  had  it  always  been  his  people  that  he  thought 
of?  Had  it  never,  in  any  lurking  impulse,  been  him- 
self ?  Allan  knew  not — no  one  ever  knew ;  for  there  is  no 
judge  of  a  man  in  heaven  or  earth  but  his  own  soul.  Allan 
shuddered  as  he  walked  on,  thinking  that  if  ever  it  had 
been  ambition — how  the  memory  of  it  would  some  day 
scorch  Mr.  Davis! 

He  had  led  the  movement  for  so  long — and  now  it  had 
gotten  beyond  his  control.  It  was  known  that  he  was 
dragging  back,  that  he  was  trying  to  restrain  the  radicals 
of  Charleston  city.  Was  that,  possibly,  why  he  was  so 
pale  and  haggard — why  the  cheek-bones  stood  out  in  his 
face  so  that  it  looked  almost  like  a  skull  1  There  rang  still  in 
Allan's  ears  a  frightful  and  savage  sentence  which  he  had 
read  in  that  morning's  paper — a  sentence  which  a  member 
of  the  Alabama  legislature  was  said  to  have  spoken  to  Mr. 
Davis,  "They  will  be  back  in  the  old  Union  in  ten  days, 
sir, — the  people  of  this  State, — unless  you  sprinkle  blood 
in  their  faces!" 

And  he  was  deciding!  Allan  walked  on,  in  a  kind  of 
dream.  He  came  to  the  fountain  again,  where  the  auc- 


298  MANASSAS 

tioneer's  voice  still  rang  out,  harsh  and  insistent:  "Only 
eight  hundred  and  twenty  dollars!  Why,  gentlemen, 
eight  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  for  a  nigger  like  this ! ' ' 
Allan  hurried  by. 

They  were  driving  him  into  war!  Yes,  that  was  it! 
There  had  been  times  when  Allan,  too,  had  wanted  war, 
but  he  did  not  want  it  now.  Could  you  look  into  the  faces 
of  these  people  about  you  and  wish  to  destroy  them? 
They  had  given  him  cause  enough  for  hatred,  no  doubt; 
but  still  they  were  pitiful  men  and  women.  He  thought 
of  Ethel  again,  and  her  cry  of  anguish  started  up  in  him. 
How  many  like  her  had  seen  their  husbands  march  away ! 
How  many  would  never  see  them  return  again ! 

A  strange  and  wild  idea  took  possession  of  him  as  he 
walked.  Why  had  he  not  spoken  to  Mr.  Davis — why 
had  he  not  pleaded  with  him — poured  out  his  soul  to 
him?  Surely  he  could  not  have  offended  him — his  heart 
was  too  full.  Had  he  not  a  right  to  speak — did  it  not 
concern  him  as  much  as  any  man?  He  might  have  said 
something  to  influence  him — he  might  have  shaken  him, 
he  might  have  turned  the  scale!  Mr.  Davis  was  a  man, 
like  other  men;  he  was  formal  and  severe — but  he  had  a 
heart ;  he  might  have  been  startled  yet  further  out  of  that 
shell  he  kept  around  him.  Who  could  say  but  that  in  his 
secret  soul  he  was  hungry  for  some  one  who  would  speak 
a  human  word? 

So  Allan  went  on  lost  in  the  imagining  of  such  a  scene : 
until  suddenly  he  stopped,  his  heart  giving  a  leap — why 
might  not  he  do  it  now?  It  might  not  yet  be  too  late! 
Was  it  that  he  was  afraid?  Could  he  let  any  thought  of 
himself  influence  him  at  such  a  time?  Mr.  Davis  might 
call  him  a  fool,  and  send  him  about  his  business, — but 
what  would  that  matter  ?  What  was  he  at  such  an  hour  ? 

He  faced  about,  and  walked  swiftly.  He  was  only  a 
square  or  two  from  the  building;  he  reached  it  before 
his  wild  impulse  had  weakened.  He  pushed  open  the 
door  and  went  in,  his  hands  trembling,  his  cheeks  burn- 
ing. 

He   stood   in   a   long,   whitewashed  hall.      There   were 


THE  STORM  299 

rows  of  doors,  with  the  names  of  officials  written  on  paper 
and  tacked  upon  them.  "Where  is  Mr.  Davis 's  room?" 
he  asked  of  a  clerk  who  passed  him. 

"Upstairs,"  was  the  reply,  and  Allan  ascended.  Here 
were  more  doors,  and  he  went  along  scanning  them. 
Upon  one  of  them  was  written:  "THE  PRESIDENT." 

Allan's  heart  gave  a  throb.  Then  he  knocked.  "Come 
in,"  said  a  voice,  and  he  entered. 

There  was  a  large  desk  by  the  window,  with  a  chair  in 
front  of  it;  but  the  chair  was  empty.  In  the  centre  of 
the  room  stood  a  young  man,  a  stranger  to  him. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Davis?"  he  asked. 

"He  is  engaged,"  was  the  reply.  "The  cabinet  is  in 
session. ' ' 

Allan  started.  "When  will  he  be  disengaged?"  he 
inquired. 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  the  other.  "The  session  will 
probably  last  all  night.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for 
you?" 

"No,"  said  Allan,  in  a  dazed  way,  "no — "  and  turned, 
and  went  out  again.  He  was  too  late ! 

All  the  rest  of  the  day  he  waited,  lounging  about  the 
hotel  and  the  capitol  grounds,  listening  for  news,  and  get- 
ting only  mad  rumors.  It  was  incredible,  what  these 
people  seemed  to  believe — he  heard  two  men  discussing 
Lincoln,  and  one  said  that  he  had  once  been  married  to  a 
negress,  and  the  other  that  he  was  drunk  all  day.  (The 
latter  statement  was  frequent  in  the  Southern  newspapers, 
then  and  later.) 

That  night  he  left  for  Charleston.  A  very  little  contact 
with  reality  had  dispelled  his  dream  of  swaying  the  des- 
tinies of  the  nation,  and  he  was  inclined  to  think  that  he 
had  been  a  fool. 

Ordinarily,  one  took  two  days  for  the  trip — to  Atlanta 
the  first  day,  and  to  Charleston  the  second.  But  now  the 
pressure  was  greater,  and  the  trains  ran  day  and  night, 
and  straight  through.  There  were  several  companies  of 
soldiers  on  the  one  that  Allan  took,  and  they  made  the 


300  MANASSAS 

trip  lively.  At  every  station,  even  in  the  small  hours  of 
the  morning,  there  were  people  to  cheer,  and  they  turned 
out  on  the  platforms  and  roared  and  shouted  in  reply. 
Each  one  of  these  volunteer  organizations  had  its  own  music 
and  generally  each  struck  up  independently,  so  that  the 
banging  and  blaring  and  confusion  were  indescribable. 
In  these  first  companies  was  all  the  wild  blood  of  the 
South, — both  the  officers  and  the  enlisted  men  were 
young  gentlemen  of  wealth  and  fashion  out  for  a  lark. 
It  was  said  that  in  some  companies  you  could  not  count  the 
millionaires  on  all  your  fingers.  There  was  no  Southerner 
too  good  to  be  a  private  at  such  a  time  as  this, — though 
of  course  they  were  privates  in  their  own  way.  They 
had  their  body-servants  and  belongings  with  them;  when 
the  companies  halted  in  a  city,  they  often  stopped  at  the 
hotel;  and  when  they  went  into  camp,  they  brought  cases 
of  champagne  and  boxes  of  truffles  and  pates.  Now,  all 
night,  while  the  cars  thumped  along,  they  played  cards, 
and  told  stories,  and  sang  songs,  and  chewed  tobacco  and 
smoked  it,  and  drank  endless  bottles  of  whiskey — "  forty- 
rod,"  or  "  sixty-rod, "  as  they  called  it,  according  to  their 
estimate  of  its  deadliness. 

The  next  morning,  the  eleventh  of  April,  they  were  in 
Atlanta;  and  here  was  more  news  and  more  excitement. 
Events  had  been  moving  the  day  before — the  papers  re- 
ported that  everything  in  Charleston  had  been  put  in 
preparation  for  an  attack  upon  the  fort.  The  South 
Carolina  convention  had  adjourned — and  nearly  all  its 
members  had  enlisted  as  volunteers.  The  city  was  wild 
with  excitement — on  the  previous  night  there  had  been 
more  processions  and  serenades,  and  the  speeches  were 
quoted  as  usual.  "I  thank  you,  gentlemen,"  one  of  the 
orators  had  exclaimed,  "that  you  have  at  last  annihilated 
this  accursed  union,  reeking  with  corruption,  and  insolent 
with  excess  of  tyranny!" 

The  train  went  on.  The  volunteers  were  disposed  to 
sleep  now,  and  there  was  less  uproar  through  the  after- 
noon. Allan  sat  and  gazed  out  the  window  at  the  endless 
succession  of  half -cultivated  fields  and  half -burned  forests, 


THE  STOKM  301 

of  dreary  stations  with  unpainted  wooden  shanties  and 
grog-shops  in  the  background,  and  a  ragged,  uncouth  pop- 
ulation assembled — the  children  barefoot,  and  the  men 
often  likewise,  but  all  cheering  and  excited.  They  were 
cheering  for  Slavery !  It  seemed  very  strange. 

Towards  evening,  the  train  arrived  at  Augusta.  Here 
there  was  a  veritable  Mardi  Gras  celebration — the  sol- 
diers turned  out  of  the  cars,  dancing  and  singing,  parad- 
ing up  and  down  the  platform,  with  their  arms  about 
each  other's  necks.  The  news  had  come  that  General 
Beauregard  had  sent  to  demand  the  surrender  of  Fort 
Sumter.  A  bombardment  was  expected  every  hour;  and 
all  Charleston  was  gone  out  to  watch  it.  Allan  sat  in 
the  car,  very  still,  the  uproar  sounding  far  away;  his 
head  was  swimming,  Mr.  Davis  and  his  cabinet  had 
decided ! 

The  .engine  whistled,  and  the  passengers  piled  aboard, 
and  off  they  went  amid  deafening  din.  There  was  no 
sleeping  that  night — no  one  could  even  sit  still.  Long 
after  midnight  everyone  kept  watch,  and  at  station  after 
station  crowded  upon  the  platform,  or  leaned  out  of  the 
windows,  shouting  for  the  news.  There  had  been  some 
delay — the  fight  had  not  come  off  as  expected,  and  the 
city  had  gone  to  bed  again.  Could  it  be  that  the  fort  was 
going  to  surrender  ?  Or  might  it  not  be  that  the  report  was 
untrue  after  all  ? 

Between  stops  the  warriors  sang  through  their  repertoire 
of  songs.  These  companies  were  from  New  Orleans,  and 
their  favorite  was  the  "Marseillaise."  They  had  versions 
newly  made  for  the  emergency — there  was  a  separate  one 
for  every  crowd  he  met,  as  it  seemed  to  Allan.  They  had 
also  new  words  for  all  the  familiar  patriotic  airs,  for 
" Dixie"  and  the  "Star  Spangled  Banner"  and  for  count- 
less other  melodies  from  "The  Minstrel's  Lament"  to 
1 l  Salley  in  our  Alley ; ' '  and  all  night  they  roared  them  out 
to  the  popping  of  champagne-corks. 

So  on,  until  at  last  through  the  open  windows  of  the 
car  a  fresh,  cool  breeze  began  to  blow.  It  smelt  of  the 
ocean,  and  meant  Charleston;  a  hush  seemed  to  fall 

20 


302  MANASSAS 

upon  the  crowd — they  sat  listening,  breathless  with  ex- 
citement. Their  impatience  grew  every  instant — the 
train  had  never  seemed  to  creep  along  so  slowly,  its  stops 
had  never  been  so  exasperating.  There  came  at  last  a 
halt  of  several  minutes,  and  two  or  three  at  a  time  the 
passengers  got  up  and  went  outside.  Allan  joined  them, 
glad  to  have  a  chance  to  move  about  and  stretch  his 
arms. 

The  train  stood  upon  the  low  marshy  ground  just  out- 
side of  the  city;  the  bay  lay  to  their  left,  and  one  could 
hear  the  dull  boom  of  the  surf  beyond  it.  The  breeze  was, 
however,  the  only  messenger;  it  was  still  too  dark  for  one 
to  see.  But  the  first  pale  flush  of  morning  was  even  now 
spreading  in  the  East,  and  men  strained  their  eyes,  striv- 
ing to  make  out  the  outline  of  the  shore  and  of  the  distant 
fort,  which  stood  in  mid-channel.  Any  minute  it  might 
come  into  view,  and  then  they  would  know  what  had  hap- 
pened in  the  night-time!  Men  clambered  up  on  the  tops 
of  the  cars  in  their  eagerness  to  be  the  first  to  learn;  and 
Allan  stood  trembling,  half  with  nervousness,  and  half 
with  the  cold  of  the  damp  misty  morning. 

"Oh,  say,  can  you  see  by  the  dawn's  early  light!"  How 
strange  was  the  resemblance  of  the  moment  to  the  one 
which  the  poet  had  made  immortal!  All  his  life  Allan 
had  heard  the  words  of  that  song,  and  never  thought! 
much  what  they  meant;  but  now  their  emotion  seized; 
him,  how  poignantly,  how  vividly !  The  flag,  the  flag !  He 
had  been  like  a  traveller  in  the  midst  of  a  desert;  a  sight 
of  it  would  be  to  him  like  a  gleam  of  verdure,  a  promise 
of  water.  So  he  stood  with  the  words  of  the  song  racing 
through  his  mind  — 

And  then  suddenly  the  crowd  whirled  about,  startled 
into  silence,  transfixed.  Across  the  harbor  there  had! 
shone  out  a  sudden  far-off  gleam  of  fire  —  instantaneous, 
like  a  flash  of  heat-lightning  close  to  the  horizon.  Atl 
the  same  moment  a  pale  spark  of  light  was  seen  to  shoot) 
up  into  the  sky.  It  went  up  in  a  curving  track,  trem- 
bling, scintillating;  slowly  and  more  slowly  it  moved  — 
then  seemed  to  stand  still  —  hovering,  hesitating,  shaking 


THE  STORM  303 

like  a  star.  And  then  it  fell,  faster  and  faster — and  sud- 
denly, like  a  meteor,  disappeared.  A  moment  later  there 
came  across  the  waters  a  dull  and  heavy  boom,  —  and  from 
the  throats  of  the  startled  crowd  burst  a  roar  that  seemed 
to  lift  the  very  roofs  off  the  cars.  It  was  a  shot ! 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  moment  was  one  that  Allan  never  forgot.  The 
edges  of  the  misty  bay  seemed  to  leap  out  in  flashes  of 
dull  red  light;  but  of  sounds  there  were  no  more  heard, 
because  of  the  frantic  uproar  in  the  train.  The  pas- 
sengers were  like  mad  people;  they  danced,  they  sang, 
they  yelled,  they  tossed  their  hats  about,  they  waved  their 
arms  in  the  air,  they  fell  upon  each  other 's  necks  and 
laughed  and  wept.  When  the  train  started  again,  they 
swarmed  upon  the  top  of  it,  they  clung  to  the  steps,  they 
sat  outside  holding  to  the  window-frames,  they  ran  along- 
side of  it,  clasping  each  other's  hands,  capering  about 
like  maniacs;  the  din  they  made  seemed  fairly  to  lift  it, 
to  bear  it  along  upon  wings.  Faster  and  faster  it  sped 
into  the  city,  a  living  mass  of  noise;  and  then  inside 
some  one  struck  up  the  "Marseillaise,"  and  a  few  joined, 
and  then  all,  and  they  sang  it,  verse  by  verse,  in  wild  ex- 
ultation, with  passion  such  as  surely  it  had  never  roused 
in  men  since  the  day  when  there  marched  into  Paris  those 
"six  hundred  Marseillaise  who  knew  how  to  die:"  — 

' '  To  arms !   to  arms  I   ye  brave ! 
The   avenging   sword   unsheathe! 
March  on!     March  on! 
All  hearts  resolved 
On  Victory  or  Death!  " 

Little  by  little,  as  they  grew  hoarse,  and  the  train 
slackened  its  speed  in  the  streets  of  the  city,  other  sounds 
began  to  grow  audible,  the  ringing  of  bells  and  the 
blowing  of  whistles,  and  over  and  above  it  all,  domi- 
nating and  outsounding  everything,  the  thunder  of  an 
incessant  cannonade.  The  reports  came  close  upon  each 

304 


THE  STORM  305 

other;  the  air  quivered  with  the  shock  of  them,  sharp  and 
quick,  driving  the  blood  in  leaps.  The  men  about  Allan 
went  wilder  with  every  instant  of  it :  until  all  at  once  the 
train  began  to  slow  up  at  the  depot,  and  they  poured  out 
of  it,  climbing  out  of  windows,  most  of  them,  in  their 
haste.  Upon  the  deserted  platform  they  fell  into  line; 
there  were  a  few  hasty  commands  from  their  officers,  and 
then  away  they  went,  double  quick,  cheering  like  mad. 

It  was  now  light  enough  to  see  plainly.  The  little  city 
was  wide  awake,  lights  burning  in  all  the  windows,  and 
people  thronging  into  the  streets.  They  were  all  running 
one  way;  by  the  time  that  Allan  neared  the  sea-front  he 
was  in  the  midst  of  a  river  of  humanity,  which  poured  out 
upon  East  Bay  Battery,  —  men,  women,  and  children 
climbing  over  the  railings,  running  over  the  grass,  and 
singing,  shouting,  staring  with  wild  eyes.  The  whole 
length  of  the  drive  was  already  lined  with  people,  watch- 
ing the  display. 

It  was  a  dull  misty  morning,  but  one  could  now  make 
out  the  solitary  fort  in  the  midst  of  the  bay,  and  the  dim 
shore-line  upon  each  side,  whence  came  the  swift  bursts 
of  flame  and  the  thick  puffs  of  lurid  smoke.  Some  fifty 
guns  were  thundering  forth  from  a  circle  of  batteries; 
the  shells  from  the  mortars  could  be  seen  bursting  in  the  air 
about  the  little  fort,  crowning  it  with  flame-riven  vapor. 
Above  it,  the  twinkling  bombs  sped  here  and  there  across 
the  sky,  cutting  tangled  curves,  and  waking  the  pale  gray 
dawn  to  a  strange  pyrotechnical  show.  Faster  and  faster, 
as  the  music  of  the  cannon  thundered,  it  beat  up  the  blood 
of  the  thronging  thousands,  and  one  could  see  their  cheeks 
aflame  with  passion.  Allan  felt  their  battle-rage  as  a 
presence  —  he  had  no  need  to  look  about  him  at  the  men, 
with  their  hands  clenched  and  their  teeth  set  and  all  the 
furies  in  their  faces.  Gleaming  through  the  rifts  in  the 
smoke-clouds,  out  there  amid  the  crash  of  shot  and  shell 
— was  the  flag !  And  for  how  much  insult  and  outrage  it 
stood  to  them!  How  long  it  had  waved  there,  menacing 
and  defiant  I  How  they  had  hated  it,  and  writhed  at  the 
sight  of  it — and  now  it  was  coming  down ! 


306  MANASSAS 

With  Allan  too,  it  was  the  end  of  a  long  impatience. 
The  change  came  so  suddenly  that  he  scarcely  realized  it; 
it  was  the  tapping  of  the  flask  and  the  coming  of  the  pre- 
cipitate— it  was  there,  where  an  instant  before  had  foeen 
no  sign  of  it.  Secession  had  brought  forth  its  child — 
Slavery  its  grandchild !  With  Slavery  you  might  parley, 
with  Secession  you  might  hesitate — but  with  this — ah 
God!  He  stood  there  with  the  wild  din  of  the  battle  in 
his  ears,  and  all  his  soul  leaped  up  in  one  blaze  of  hatred. 
No,  never — you  could  never  dally  with  this,  you  could 
make  no  terms  with  this!  You  flung  yourself  upon  it, 
you  grappled  with  it,  you  twisted  your  fingers  in  the 
neck  of  it!  Down  with  it — down  with  it!  Down, 
down!  There  was  nothing  for  you  to  do  in  the  world, 
there  was  nothing  for  you  to  think  about,  until  you  had 
crushed  that  infamy;  until  you  had  stamped  your  heel 
upon  it,  until  you  had  driven  it  into  the  earth,  so  that 
never  might  it  dare  to  rear  its  head  again!  And  ah, 
what  a  relief  it  was — what  a  joy — to  have  brushed  aside 
all  the  cobwebs,  to  see  the  issue  plain ! 

There  would  come  an  instant's  lull — then  a  burst  of 
thundering  shocks  in  swift  succession;  and  the  crowd 
would  roar,  surging  forward,  the  gusts  of  the  battle- 
tempest  seizing  them  and  whirling  them  on.  Then 
suddenly  Allan  noticed  that  through  it  all  the  fort  was 
not  replying.  The  flag  floated  on— but  the  flag  was  not 
enough.  What  was  the  matter  ? 

"They  haven't  fired  a  shot,"  said  a  man  at  his  side, 
answering  his  inquiry. 

" Why  not?"  he  cried. 

"I  don't  know,"  was  the  reply;  "I  guess  they're  scared 
and  hiding." 

It  could  not  be  that,  Allen  knew.  But  he  moved  here 
and  there,  burning  with  impatience — what  could  it  mean? 
The  country  had  gone  on,  submitting,  submitting — could 
it  be  that  it  was  going  to  submit  to  this?  Was  he  to 
stand  there  and  see  the  flag  fall  and  the  fort  torn  to 
pieces, — and  learn,  perhaps,  that  the  wretched  politicians 
at  Washington  had  forbidden  Major  Anderson  to  reply? 


THE  STORM  307 

The  truth  of  the  matter  was  that  Major  Anderson  and 
his  men  were  then  quietly  breakfasting  upon  salt  pork  and 
water:  having  not  too  much  powder,  and  hence  no  need 
of  haste.  It  was  broad  daylight  before  finally  they  fired 
their  first  gun.  The  crowd  gave  a  roar  of  delight — now 
there  would  be  a  real  battle ! 

The  bombardment  redoubled — the  wide  spaces  of  the 
harbor  echoed  with  it,  the  buildings  of  the  city  shook  with 
it.  Before  long  the  whole  of  the  scene  was  hidden  in 
smoke;  it  was  a  raw  day,  with  showers  now  and  then, 
but  through  it  all  the  wealth  and  fashion  of  Charleston 
thronged  the  water  front,  thrilling  with  joy.  Enthusiasm 
made  the  crowd  one — old  or  young,  rich  or  poor,  it  was 
all  the  same,  they  laughed  and  sang  together.  Some  one 
would  start  a  cheer,  and  it  would  run  like  a  breaking  wave 
along  a  beach;  now  and  then  a  company  of  soldiers  would 
march  down  the  driveway,  or  a  favorite  officer  gallop  past, 
and  the  din  would  drown  out  the  bombardment  for  a 
moment.  Here  and  there  a  party  would  strike  up  a  song, 
and  the  whole  mass  of  people  would  take  it  up ;  there  was 
a  couplet  which  seemed  to  give  them  endless  delight — some 
one  was  chanting  it  every  minute : — 

"With  mortar,  Paixhan,  and  petard, 
We  tender  Old  Abe  our  Beau-regard !  ' ' 

Now  and  then  as  the  breeze  would  make  rifts  in  the 
smoke,  Fort  Sumter  or  the  batteries  would  come  into 
view.  Allan  went  back  into  the  city  to  get  a  pair  of  field- 
glasses;  with  these  he  could  see  the  fort,  torn  here  and 
there  with  shot — could  see  the  shells  bursting  about  it, 
and  brick  and  stone  flying  now  and  then  as  a  round  shot 
buried  itself  in  the  walls.  None  of  the  garrison  was  in 
sight — they  were  firing  only  the  lower  tier  of  guns. 
Upon  the  half-dozen  surrounding '  batteries,  however,  he 
could  see  the  gunners  plainly;  they  would  leap  upon  the 
breastworks  after  each  shot,  watching  to  see  the  effect  of 
it,  cheering  and  waving  their  caps.  The  fire  of  Sumter 
appeared  to  do  them  no  particular  harm,  so  far  as  Allan 
could  see.  Upon  the  island  near  Fort  Moultrie  was  a  vil- 


308  MANASSAS 

lage  and  a  summer  hotel,  the  latter  crowded  with  guests, 
ladies  and  gentlemen  who  had  gone  down  to  watch  this 
holiday  warfare,  and  to  see  the  gallant  sons  of  South 
Carolina  expel  the  ' '  hirelings  of  the  North. ' ' 

All  day  long  the  cannonade  went  on,  ceasing  only  with 
the  darkness.  No  harm  had  been  done,  it  transpired — 
the  Southern  loss  consisted  of  one  old  mule!  The  night 
fell  cold  and  rainy,  which  put  an  end  to  any  street 
demonstrations;  but  in  the  hotels  and  bar-rooms  there 
was  carousing  until  dawn.  All  night  the  guns  of  Moultrie 
kept  up  a  slow  bombardment,  a  promise  for  the  morrow, 
and  a  warning  to  the  fleet  outside,  which  was  prevented  by 
the  gale  from  making  even  an  attempt  to  ree'nf orce  the  fort. 

Promptly  at  dawn  the  next  morning  the  fight  began 
again.  The  day  was  fine,  and  the  crowd  upon  the  Battery, 
and  the  wharves  and  the  house-tops  of  Charleston,  was 
greater  than  ever.  The  besiegers  now  began  firing  red- 
hot  shot;  and  in  the  course  of  the  morning  the  barracks 
of  the  fort  took  fire.  Soon  the  blaze  could  be  seen,  and 
the  sky  grew  black  with  the  smoke.  The  guns  of  Sumter 
slackened, — for  a  time  ceased  altogether.  The  crowd 
cheered  madly,  and  the  surrounding  batteries  thundered 
as  never  before.  Allan,  who  had  spent  a  sleepless  night, 
stood  biting  his  lip  in  vexation.  The  fort  was  to  fall, 
then !  The  long  vigil  of  its  garrison,  the  long  vigil  of  the 
country,  were  to  be  all  for  nothing !  It  was  more  humilia- 
tion— would  there  never  come  a  time  when  the  man  who 
loved  his  country  might  hold  up  his  head  ? 

Charleston  cheered  when  Fort  Sumter  opened  fire  again, 
admiring  the  pluck  of  the  garrison.  Major  Anderson  was 
not  personally  unpopular  in  the  city;  it  was  known  that 
he  was  a  Kentuckian  and  a  state's  rights  man,  and  that 
his  heart  was  not  in  the  fight — he  was  only  doing  his 
duty.  Allan  burned  with  indignation,  hearing  that;  but 
in  truth  the  garrison  was  doing  its  best — it  was  out- 
numbered a  hundred  to  one,  and  in  the  midst  of  smoke 
and  flame,  the  magazine  in  peril,  the  defenders  of  the  fort 


THE  STORM  309 

were  obliged  to  crawl  about  on  the  ground  with  wet  cloths 
over  their  faces. 

Shortly  after  noon  their  flagstaff  was  carried  away,  and 
they  nailed  their  flag  to  the  fragment  that  was  left.  Not 
long  afterward,  however,  their  firing  ceased  altogether; 
and  after  some  delay  the  besieging  cannon  also  fell  silent. 
A  white  flag  had  been  raised  upon  the  fort. 

There  were  complications  and  some  delay.  It  tran- 
spired that  an  officious  aide  of  General  Beauregard  had 
rowed  over,  waving  his  handkerchief,  and  offering  terms 
which  he  had  had  no  authority  to  offer.  Finally,  how- 
ever, it  was  decided  to  grant  them — the  garrison  was  to 
salute  its  flag  and  march  out  with  the  honors  of  war. 
The  news  was  placarded  about  Charleston,  and  that  night 
the  city  gave  itself  up  to  an  orgy  of  rejoicing :  the  streets 
thronged,  and  every  house  blazing  with  lights,  bonfires, 
torchlight,  processions,  military  paradings  everywhere, 
bands  of  music  sounding,  and  generals  and  senators  mak- 
ing speeches  from  doorsteps  and  the  balconies  of  hotels. 
In  the  restaurants  and  saloons,  clubs  and  taverns,  every- 
where one  went  there  was  deafening  confusion,  wine  flow- 
ing, toasts,  cheers,  speeches,  and  songs.  It  was  Saturday 
night ;  and  on  the  morrow  the  fort  was  to  be  evacuated — 
there  would  be  services  of  thanksgiving  in  all  the  churches, 
and  in  the  Roman  Catholic  church  a  "Te  deum"  in  honor 
of  the  glorious  victory.  In  the  midst  of  it  all  Allan  made 
his  way  to  the  depot,  and  took  a  train  for  the  North. 

He  was  going  home — to  see  about  it.  The  rage  of  it 
burnt  him  like  fire  in  his  blood;  the  country  had  waited 
so  long,  had  borne  so  much — oh,  surely  it  would  not  bear 
this!  All  the  taunts  and  the  mocking  speeches  he  had 
heard,  rang  in  his  ears,  following  him,  goading  him.  How 
long  he  had  endured  them — how  much  of  gall  he  had 
swallowed !  And  now  was  he  only  to  meet  with  more  dis- 
appointment— to  find  that  he  had  still  no  country?  He 
was  sick  with  the  impatience  and  anxiety  of  it. 

Almost  endless  seemed  the  journey.  The  rivers  were 
swollen  with  the  spring  floods  and  the  trains  delayed 


310  MANASSAS 

beyond  endurance.  The  telegraph,  had  sent  on  the  news, 
however,  and  at  every  station,  through  all  the  day  and  the 
night,  there  were  crowds  and  cheers  and  speeches.  No 
one  talked  of  anything  but  Sumter;  the  fact  that  the  day 
was  Sunday  seemed  only  to  have  increased  the  throngs 
and  the  noise. 

Allan  spent  that  night  in  Wilmington,  North  Carolina. 
The  quay  where  the  ferry-boat  landed  was  piled  high 
with  cannon-balls,  and  there  was  a  military  camp  near  by. 
All  through  the  evening  the  scenes  of  Charleston  were 
repeated;  and  when  he  got  up  in  the  morning  he  was 
surprised  to  find  that  the  uproar  was  worse  than  ever. 
He  judged  that  something  new  must  have  happened,  and 
he  dressed  in  haste  and  ran  out  to  the  street.  Then  a 
thunderbolt  struck  him,  in  the  shape  of  a  newspaper 
announcement  with  flaring  headlines: — 

A  PROCLAMATION 

BY  THE  PKESIDENT  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES: 

"  Whereas  the  laws  of  the  United  States  have  been  for 
some  time  past  and  are  now  opposed,  and  the  execution  thereof 
obstructed,  in  the  States  of  South  Carolina,  Georgia,  Alabama, 
Florida,  Mississippi,  Louisiana,  and  Texas,  by  combinations  too 
powerful  to  be  suppressed  by  the  ordinary  course  of  judicial 
proceedings,  or  by  the  powers  vested  in  the  marshals  by  law: 
now,  therefore,  I,  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  President  of  the  United 
States,  in  virtue  of  the  power  in  ime  vested  by  the  Constitution 
and  the  laws,  have  thought  fit  to  call  forth,  and  hereby  do 
call  forth,  the  militia  of  the  several  States  of  the  Union  to  the 
aggregate  number  of  75,000,  in  order  to  suppress  said  com- 
bination and  to  cause  the  laws  to  be  duly  executed. ' ' 

It  was  to  be  war  then — war !  The  papers  were  full  of 
it — and  here  on  the  streets  was  a  hoarse,  surging  mob  of 
men,  armed  all  of  them,  some  even  with  pikes,  their  eyes 
wild,  their  faces  convulsed,  screaming,  yelling  to  split  the 
ear.  The  Abolition  hordes  were  coming!  And  any  one 
who  would  climb  upon  a  step  and  make  a  speech  might 
have  a  dense  throng  around  him  in  an  instant — cheering, 


THE  STORM  311 

swearing,  roaring  for  "Jeff  Davis''  and  the  new  Confed- 
eracy. Allan  was  the  more  surprised,  because  North 
Carolina  had  not  yet  seceded,  and  was  one  of  the  States 
whose  "latent  Union  sentiment"  had  been  an  endless  topic 
at  the  North. 

But  at  every  station  it  was  the  same — at  every  place 
where  the  train  even  crossed  a  road  there  was  a  crowd, 
and  the  blaring  of  the  band  at  one  depot  was  hardly 
out  of  one's  ears,  before  that  of  the  next  was  heard.  At 
one  stop  there  was  a  little  church  with  a  grove  beside 
it,  and  a  regiment  tented  beneath  the  trees;  at  another  a 
troop  of  cavalry  picketed  in  the  main  street  of  a  town, 
so  that  one  saw  down  a  long  lane  of  horses,  lithe  and 
eager,  prancing  in  the  midst  of  the  wild  confusion.  At 
a  third  place  they  were  raising  a  ' 1  secession  pole, ' '  draped 
with  bunting — a  ceremony  which  the  train  honored  by 
waiting  until  it  was  over.  At  still  a  fourth — a  little 
backwoods  station — Allan  saw  an  extraordinary  sight. 
A  company  of  volunteers  was  gathered  there,  clad  in  gray 
homespun  shirts  and  "butternut"  trousers,  and  armed  for 
the  most  part  with  "squirrel  guns";  and  they  were  all 
singing  like  mad — the  roar  of  it  seemed  enough  to  raise 
the  frail  roof  of  the  depot  shed.  Standing  upon  an  over- 
turned barrel  an  old  gentleman  was  leading  them — a 
man  with  white  hair  and  long  white  bristling  mustaches; 
he  had  a  sword  in  one  hand  for  a  baton,  and  he  swung  it 
six  feet  at  a  beat.  His  face  was  dripping  with  perspira- 
tion, purple,  hot,  and  distorted  with  passion — a  more 
demoniac-looking  creature  Allan  was  certain  he  had  never 
dreamed  of  in  his  life.  The  crowd  sang  one  song  after 
him,  and  then  he  roared  for  another,  and  another;  as  the 
train  rolled  out  of  the  depot  they  were  in  the  midst  of  a 
strange  composition  altogether  new  to  Allan 's  ears : — 

"Want  a  weapon?    Gather  a  brick, — 
Club  or  cudgel,  or  stone  or  stick; 
Anything  with  a  blade  or  butt, 
Anything  that  can  cleave  or  cut! 
Anything  heavy,  or  hard,  or  keen; 
Any  sort  of  a  slaying-machine ! ' ' 


312  MANASSAS 

On  Monday  evening  he  came  to  Weldon,  where  he 
learned  that  his  way  to  Washington  through  Richmond 
was  blocked  by  the  floods.  He  would  be  obliged  to  wait 
until  morning  and  go  by  way  of  Norfolk.  In  Weldon 
was  a  bulletin-board  with  a  crowd  about  it,  watching  for 
the  latest  bit  of  news.  The  governor  of  Kentucky  had 
just  telegraphed  to  the  President  refusing  to  comply  with 
his  demand  for  troops;  it  was  said  that  the  governors  of 
Virginia  and  North  Carolina  were  on  the  point  of  doing 
likewise.  In  Richmond,  the  Virginia  convention  was  then 
in  session,  and  the  day  had  been  one  of  stormy  debate, 
and  of  wild  excitement  in  the  city;  the  convention  had 
adjourned  until  the  following  day,  leaving  the  question 
still  undecided.  It  was  declared,  none  the  less,  that 
troops  were  already  moving  upon  Washington,  which  a 
member  of  the  cabinet  in  Montgomery  had  declared  would 
fall  by  the  first  of  May. 

Still  more  eagerly  Allan  looked  for  the  news  from  the 
North.  It  was  meagre,  but  what  came  was  of  a  startling 
sort.  Senator  Douglas  had  formally  announced  his  inten- 
tion to  support  Lincoln;  and  in  New  York,  Philadelphia, 
Trenton,  and  other  Northern  cities,  immense  crowds  had 
paraded,  compelling  suspected  persons  to  display  Union 
flags,  and  wrecking  the  offices  of  pro-Southern  journals. 
One  read  it  twice  before  he  could  believe  the  news — that 
the  office  of  the  New  York  Herald,  the  mob-newspaper,  had 
been  mobbed. 

The  scenes  which  Allan  witnessed  in  Virginia  were 
like  those  in  North  Carolina ;  he  travelled  again  in  a  train 
that  was  full  of  soldiers,  and  arriving  at  evening  in  the 
decayed  and  sleepy  little  city  of  Norfolk,  he  found  it  more 
ablaze  with  excitement  than  any  other  place  he  had  seen 
so  far.  Companies  had  been  pouring  into  Norfolk  from 
all  over  the  State;  for  just  across  the  river  was  the  Gros- 
port  Navy-yard,  one  of  the  largest  in  the  country,  and 
lying  there  were  about  a  dozen  vessels  of  war,  including 
eight  frigates, — one  of  them  a  huge  steam-frigate,  the 
Merrimac.  Here  also  were  some  two  thousand  cannon,  an 


THE  STORM  313 

immense  granite  dry-dock,  and  military  stores  to  the  value 
of  nine  or  ten  millions  of  dollars — all  without  a  garrison 
to  protect  it  I  It  was  known  that  the  government  at 
Washington  was  alarmed  about  it,  and  that  work  was 
being  rushed  upon  the  Merrimac  to  get  her  out  in  safety. 

But  most  of  the  officers  in  the  yard  were  Southerners, 
and  hence  there  had  been  many  delays.  The  very  air  of 
Norfolk  seemed  sultry  with  passion,  as  before  a  thunder- 
clap. On  the  night  of  Allan's  arrival  two  vessels  were 
taken  out  by  the  secessionists,  and  sunk  in  the  channel  to 
block  it. 

Allan  found  to  his  dismay  that  the  steamer  for  Balti- 
more had  been  seized,  and  that  his  way  was  blocked. 
With  the  swiftness  with  which  events  were  moving,  the 
loss  of  a  day  or  two  now  might  mean  that  he  would  never 
reach  the  North  at  all.  Already  he  had  heard  wild  rumors 
that  Washington  had  been  seized;  it  had  long  been  whis- 
pered that  "Ben  McCullough,"  the  leader  of  a  company 
of  rangers  of  Mexican  War  fame,  was  assembling  five 
thousand  troopers  in  Virginia  for  that  purpose.  The 
young  man  knew  hardly  which  way  to  turn, — merely  to 
inquire  about  a  method  of  escape  was  to  render  one's  self 
an  object  of  suspicion  in  Norfolk. 

There  were  bulletin-boards  in  this  city  also,  and  cheer- 
ing crowds  about  them.  He  read  the  despatch  which  the 
governor  of  Missouri  had  sent  to  "Old  Abe,"  expressing 
himself  with  praiseworthy  frankness — "Your  requisition 
[for  troops]  in  my  judgment  is  illegal,  unconstitutional 
and  revolutionary  in  its  object,  inhuman  and  diabolical." 
On  the  other  hand  it  was  stated  that  the  militia  of  Massa- 
chusetts were  that  day  mustering  in  Boston,  and  that  one 
regiment  would  start  for  Washington  on  the  morrow. 
These  and  other  items  from  the  North  gave  glimpses  of  a 
state  of  affairs  in  which  Allan,  sick  with  long  waiting, 
scarcely  dared  to  believe. 

In  the  morning  there  came  a  report  that  President 
Davis  had  issued  a  proclamation  offering  to  commission 
privateers;  also,  on  that  day,  the  convention  in  Rich- 
mond ordained  the  secession  of  the  State — and  though  the 


314-  MANASSAS 

step  was  supposed  to  be  secret,  it  leaked  out  and  was  whis- 
pered in  Norfolk.  A  fearful  rumor  was  that  for  many, 
there  and  elsewhere  throughout  Virginia.  Hers  had  been 
the  chief  part  in  the  making  of  this  Union,  and  hers  the 
last  agonized  attempt  to  save  it;  and  now  came  the  word 
that  all  hope  was  gone — and  that  her  soil  was  to  be  made 
the  battle-ground  of  two  empires.  How  many  families 
it  rent  in  half ! — there  were  officers  in  the  military  and 
naval  service  who  had  spent  their  lives  in  guarding  the 
stars  and  stripes,  and  each  man  had  now  to  choose,  and 
either  to  make  war  upon  the  flag,  or  else  to  follow  it  and 
make  war  upon  his  home.  Not  all  of  them  were  young, 
and  could  say  as  did  one  Virginia  captain,  set  to  watch 
the  bridge  which  led  into  Washington:  "If  any  rebels 
come  to-night,  boys,  we'll  blow  them  to  hell;  but  to-mor- 
row be  careful,  for  I  shall  be  a  rebel  myself!"  In  Wash- 
ington was  that  Colonel  Lee  whom  Allan  had  seen  at 
Harper's  Ferry  on  the  fatal  night  of  John  Brown's  insur- 
rection; to  him,  the  most  trusted  officer  of  the  army,  Gen- 
eral Scott,  also  a  Virginian,  now  offered  the  command  of  it 
— and  he  went  away  to  his  home  across  the  river  to  wrestle 
with  the  dreadful  problem.  That  day,  also,  in  a  little 
house  in  Norfolk,  there  sat  two  captains  of  the  navy  who 
had  given  between  them  a  century  to  the  service.  They 
were  Virginians  both,  and  they  labored  with  each  other, 
pleading,  each  of  them,  with  tears  in  his  eyes — through 
the  night,  and  until  the  break  of  day,  but  all  in  vain. 
One  of  them,  the  grandfather  of  the  writer  of  these  pages, 
went  South  to  ruin  and  to  death;  and  the  other  came 
North — his  name  was  David  Farragut. 

Before  that  day  was  gone,  Allan's  impatience  had 
reached  its  climax;  he  found  a  boatman  to  ferry  him 
over  to  Portsmouth,  and  thence  he  made  his  way  to  the 
navy-yard.  He  judged  it  likely  that  at  a  critical  time 
such  as  this  there  would  be  constant  communication  be- 
tween the  yard  and  Washington.  In  the  midst  of  the 
confusion  of  the  place  and  the  din  of  preparation,  he  found 
an  officer  to  listen  to  his  plea.  He  had  letters  in  his 


THE  STORM  315 

pocket  by  which  he  could  prove  his  story;  and  so,  after  a 
great  deal  of  trouble,  he  obtained  permission  to  travel  on 
a  despatch-boat  which  was  to  leave  that  night.  It  bore  a 
young  engineer  of  the  navy,  whose  errand  it  was — though 
Allan  knew  nothing  of  it — to  carry  to  Washington  the 
startling  tidings  that  the  commandant  of  the  yard  had 
refused  to  obey  the  orders  sent  him,  that  the  Merrimac 
should  put  to  sea.  Three  days  later  the  vessel,  with  all 
the  others,  and  nearly  everything  else  in  the  place,  was  in 
flames. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  eighteenth  of  that  momen- 
tous month  of  April  that  Allan  found  himself  at  last  in 
Washington.  It  lacked  but  a  few  hours  of  a  week  from 
the  time  when  he  had  seen  the  first  shell  burst  over  Sum- 
ter;  and  in  all  that  time  he  had  had  no  news  from  home, 
save  the  few  facts  which  the  Southern  papers  chose  to  give 
him.  When  he  stepped  out  upon  the  dock  he  felt,  in  his 
joy,  as  if  he  could  have  clasped  the  whole  city  in  his  arms. 
He  went  on,  half  running,  his  eyes  and  ears  upon  the 
alert. 

Everything  in  Washington  was  a-quiver  with  feverish 
excitement.  Flags  were  fluttering  from  all  the  buildings, 
public  and  private — how  suddenly  beautiful  the  flag  had 
come  to  be !  Patrols  of  the  district  militia  were  marching 
through  the  streets — officers  were  galloping  here  and  there 
—the  people  one  passed  were  walking  more  swiftly  than 
usual,  talking  more  excitedly. 

Allan  had  not  believed  the  tales  he  had  heard,  and  he 
had  hopes  that  his  fears  for  the  capital  would  vanish 
when  he  reached  it;  but  he  found  now  that  Washington 
was  a  very  whirlpool  of  rumors,  shaken  every  hour  with 
a  new  alarm.  Virginia  was  moving  on  Harper's  Ferry, 
and  McCullough's  raiders  were  to  strike  that  night.  Ex- 
Governor  Wise  was  leaving  Richmond  with  troops — up- 
risings were  occurring  in  Maryland — mobs  were  sacking 
Baltimore — bridges  were  burning,  telegraph  wires  were 
down.  Everywhere  one  turned  he  heard  a  fresh  story; 
and  always  one  terrible  chorus,  "No  troops  yet  from  the 


316  MANASSAS 

North!"  It  had  been  three  days  since  the  call,  and  still 
they  did  not  come!  Allan  went  into  Willard's  Hotel, 
which  was  packed;  he  could  see  that  nearly  all  the 
people  there  were  Southerners,  and  they  talked  to  each 
other  apart,  and  in  whispers.  It  was  said  that  General 
Scott  was  dreading  the  outbreak  of  a  conspiracy  that 
night,  and  had  turned  the  Capitol  building  into  an  arsenal 
for  the  defence  of  the  President  and  his  cabinet. 

The  young  man  bought  newspapers,  and  then  for  the 
first  time  the  wonderful  light  burst  in  upon  him  in  its 
fulness.  He  went  down  the  street,  reading  these  papers, 
darting  from  column  to  column,  his  cheeks  flushed,  his 
hands  trembling,  —  in  the  end  he  was  laughing,  singing 
to  himself,  shaking  the  tears  out  of  his  eyes.  The  country 
was  up!  There  was  never  anything  like  it — it  could 
hardly  be  grasped,  it  could  hardly  be  believed.  There 
were  public  meetings  in  every  city,  flags  from  every  house, 
a  universal  holiday  throughout  sixteen  States.  Com- 
panies were  offering  from  every  town,  banks  lending 
funds,  business  houses  and  public  councils  subscribing  for 
the  support  of  soldiers.  Accounts  of  such  things  filled 
columns  of  each  day's  paper,  and  also  there  were  speeches 
and  sermons,  letters  and  poems  and  editorials.  The  fervor 
of  the  country  was  like  a  forest-fire  —  it  had  seized  upon 
everything,  swept  everything  away.  There  was  no  longer 
a  disloyal  voice,  scarcely  a  voice  of  hesitation;  Douglas 
was  out  for  the  war,  Buchanan  was  out  for  the  war  —  even 
the  mayor  of  New  York,  who  had  wanted  to  secede  him- 
self, had  issued  an  address  blazing  with  patriotic  ardor. 
There  were  no  longer  any  parties,  no  longer  any  classes; 
clergymen  and  college  professors  were  enlisting  by  the 
side  of  day-laborers  and  clerks.  They  were  coming,  the 
student  from  his  desk  and  the  workman  from  his  bench, 
"  leaving  all  things  to  save  the  Republic. "  The  very 
newspapers  in  which  one  read  these  reports  were  changed 
—  the  meanest  reporter  or  correspondent  was  suddenly 
become  a  seer  of  visions,  a  man  with  a  duty  and  a  faith, 
speaking  invocations  and  prophecies.  The  whole  face  of  the 
land  seemed  altered  —  Allen  stared  at  it,  unable  to  realize 


THE  STOKM  311 

that  it  was  the  same  country  he  had  left  two  weeks  before. 
All  the  selfishness  in  it  was  gone,  all  the  cowardice  in  it, 
the  dullness,  the  blindness,  the  baseness  —  the  very  thugs 
and  blacklegs  of  the  Bowery  were  organizing  a  regiment, 
and  being  presented  with  Bibles! 

Allan  recognized  in  it  all  the  counterpart  of  his  own 
experience  as  he  stood  upon  the  Battery  in  Charleston. 
The  shot  that  had  so  shaken  him  —  it  had  shaken  the 
country  from  Maine  to  Kansas,  had  roused  it  like  a  sleep- 
ing lion;  it  had  sprung  up,  gigantic,  terrible  in  its  fury. 
The  nation  was  coming  forth  like  a  young  giant  —  girding 
its  armor  about  it,  calling  for  the  combat;  and  fear  and 
doubt  fled  before  it,  victory  and  salvation  came  in  its 
train.  Well  might  men,  North  as  well  as  South,  stand 
dismayed;  it  was  more  than  any  dreamer  in  his  wildest 
hour  had  dreamed.  It  was  something  .superhuman,  beyond 
thought;  something  colossal,  cosmic,  seizing  the  mind 
like  the  sweep  of  the  planets,  the  upheavals  of  the  ages 
and  the  crashing  of  the  skies.  Was  it  any  word  spoken 
upon  earth  that  had  lifted  these  twenty  millions  of  men  in 
one  swift  surge  of  wrath  and  resolution?  Allan's  soul 
took  fire  as  he  read  of  it,  it  lifted  him  out  of  himself,  it  lent 
him  wings;  his  step  grew  light,  and  there  was  singing 
within  him,  like  the  singing  of  the  storm-wind  on  the 
mountains.  Ah,  how  wonderful  it  was  —  how  beyond  all 
words  it  was !  How  little  he  had  understood  his  country : 
so  patient,  so  long-suffering  and  slow  to  anger !  And  he 
so  blind  and  poor,  so  full  of  doubts  and  hatreds,  so  little 
wise !  He  did  penance  upon  his  knees  before  his  country, 
he  pledged  his  vows  anew.  Let  it  nevermore  be  his  way 
— let  it  be  her  way!  The  voice  of  his  grandfather  spoke 
to  him  again  —  those  lessons  which  as  a  child  he  had  not 
understood,  how  terribly  he  understood  them  now!  That 
his  country  was  humanity  —  that  its  hope  was  the  hope 
of  man,  and  its  purpose  the  purpose  of  God!  The  songs 
that  the  old  man  had  sung  came  back  to  him,  the  prayers 
he  had  whispered,  the  consecrations  of  which  he  had  never 
spoken  without  a  trembling  at  the  lips;  the  statesmen 
who  had  toiled  for  her,  the  soldiers  who  had  died  for  her, 

21 


318  MANASSAS 

the  agonies,  the  heroisms  that  had  been  poured  into  her 
lap  —  the  memories  of  them  rushed  over  Allan,  shaking 
his  soul.  He  saw  it  now  —  that  faith  which  had  been  the 
old  man's  religion,  in  America,  in  freedom,  in  democracy 
— in  the  people!  In  the  people,  that  moved  towards 
righteousness;  so  slowly,  and  yet  so  irresistibly,  with  a 
movement  like  the  movement  of  time ! 

— And  now  they  were  coming !  From  the  cities  and  the 
farms,  from  the  mountains  and  the  prairies,  from  the  East 
and  the  West  they  were  coming,  to  redeem  the  heritage 
of  their  fathers,  to  save  the  land  of  their  love.  To  do 
the  work  which  all  men  had  said  was  impossible  —  and 
yet  which  must  be  done!  Allan,  laughing  aloud  in  his 
excitement,  read  the  news  of  one  State  after  another  — 
it  was  like  a  sight  of  the  floods  in  the  springtime,  turbu- 
lent, uproarious,  all-compelling! 

And  Massachusetts,  glorious  old  Massachusetts,  was 
leading  them  all!  They  had  asked  her  for  two  regiments 
—  she  was  sending  five.  The  banks  of  Boston  had  offered 
the  money,  and  the  same  night  that  the  call  had  come 
the  troops  began  to  gather.  They  were  pouring  into 
Boston  from  every  county  in  the  State,  and  their  towns 
were  voting  them  money,  and  flags,  and  clothing,  and 
whatever  else  they  could  think  of.  They  were  quartered 
in  Faneuil  Hall  —  the  "Cradle  of  Liberty"  —  where  Han- 
cock and  Otis  watched  over  their  slumber! 

Allan  looked  for  the  Fifth  Regiment — it  was  in  the 
Fifth  that  he  meant  to  enlist  himself,  with  his  cousin 
and  his  friends.  He  saw  no  mention  of  it;  but  the  Sixth 
had  left  the  afternoon  before,  and  was  due  in  Washington 
the  next  morning;  the  Eighth  had  left  the  same  evening, 
and  the  rest  were  close  behind.  On  the  morrow  would 
start  the  New  York  "  Seventh/'  the  "  dandy  "  regiment 
of  that  city;  the  journalists  of  the  metropolis  had  lost 
their  sense  of  humor  in  this  crisis,  and  one  of  them  told 
of  a  fond  mother  who  had  taken  her  young  militiaman 
into  a  store,  and,  after  purchasing  him  a  new  uniform  and 
rifle,  with  all  accessories,  had  flung  her  arms  about  him, 


THE  STORM  319 

weeping,    and    said,    while    the    spectators    cheered,    "Go 
my  son ;  I  have  done  for  you  all  that  I  can  do ! " 

Allan  sent  a  telegram  home,  inquiring  about  the  regi- 
ment; and  then  he  started  up  the  street  again,  gazing 
about  him.  He  was  on  Pennsylvania  Avenue;  galloping 
along  it  he  saw  a  group  of  officers,  and  some  artillerymen 
with  a  small  field-gun.  They  were  going  toward  the 
Capitol,  and  he  watched  them  go  by  in  a  cloud  of  dust, 
and  then  set  out  to  follow.  Before  long,  however,  he 
halted,  seeing  some  one  on  the  other  side  of  the  avenue. 
Surely  he  could  not  be  mistaken — that  long,  lanky  figure, 
striding  swiftly,  staring  straight  ahead !  He  darted  across, 
calling  out;  and  the  man  turned — yes,  he  was  right — 
it  was  Edward  Love  joy ! 

Lovejoy,  turning,  rushed  toward  him,  and  seized  his 
hand  in  a  paralyzing  grip.  "You  got  my  message?" 
he  cried. 

"Message!"  exclaimed  the  other.  "No,  I  got  no  mes- 
sage. ' ' 

"I  wired  you  ten  days  ago,"  said  Lovejoy,  "telling 
you  there 'd  be  war,  and  to  come." 

"I  didn't  get  it,"  Allan  answered.     "But  I'm  here!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

There  was  a  hurried  explanation,  land  Allan  told  of 
where  he  had  been  and  what  he  had  seen.  "You  have 
come  in  the  nick  of  time,"  said  Lovejoy.  "I  have  been 
out  for  the  last  two  hours  hunting  for  men  to  help  save 
the  city  to-night ! ' ' 

Allan  stared  at  him.    "What  do  you  mean?"  he  cried. 

1  'We  expect  an  attack/'  said  the  other. 

"By  whom?" 

"By  every  one  you  see  around  here!  Haven't  you 
seen  them  scowling  at  you,  whispering  in  the  corners? 
And  all  day  we've  been  promised  troops — and  they  don't 
come,  they  don 't  come  !  Montague,  it 's  horrible — we  've 
just  had  positive  word  that  the  Virginians  are  marching 
on  Harper's  Ferry,  and  that  all  the  arms  there,  and  the 
machine-shops  and  rifle  works,  are  to  be  burned.  It's  the 
same  thing  everywhere — there  doesn't  seem  to  be  any 
end  to  it!" 

Allan  was  gazing  at  him  with  a  look  of  dismay- 
"Come  on,"  Lovejoy  said  hurriedly.  "There's  no  time 
to  be  lost  about  it.  Do  you  know  any  one  that's  here  in 
Washington?" 

"Not  that  I  can  think  of,"  said  the  other. 

"Well,  keep  a  lookout;  you  can't  tell  whom  you  may 
meet.  We  need  every  true  man  in  the  city  to  help  us." 

"Who's  managing  this?"  Allan  asked. 

"Private  citizens,"  said  the  other — "Cash  Clay  for 
one,  and  Jim  Lane,  if  you  know  who  he  is. ' ' 

"The  Kansas  leader,  you  mean?" 

"Yes.    But  talk  lower;  it  mustn't  be  known  about." 

The  name  of  Lane  was  familiar  to  Allan  as  that  of  one 
of  the  more  violent  of  the  free-state  leaders  in  the  old 
Kansas  quarrel — a  companion  of  John  Brown.  Cassius 
Clay  was  a  wild  Kentuckian,  an  Abolitionist  who  had 

320 


THE  STORM  321 

had  various  adventures  as  editor  of  an  antislavery  paper, 
fighting  duels  about  it  in  his  native-  State.  "Wait  a 
moment  till  I  look  in  here/7  said  Love  joy,  dashing  into 
a  cafe. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  the  other  asked,  as  he 
reappeared,  and  they  went  on. 

"We  are  getting  some  volunteers  to  patrcl  the  streets 
for  the  night,"  said  Love  joy,  "and  to  guard  the  White 
House.  People  don't  realize  the  truth  of  it— this  city's 
just  like  a  magazine,  and  only  a  spark  is  needed.  If  the 
capital  of  the  country  were  to  go,  and  all  the  archives  and 
the  public  buildings — don't  you  see  that  it  would  ruin 
us?  What  more  would  Europe  want  for  a  pretext  to 
recognize  the  rebels?  And  then — hello,  there!  Wait 
a  moment ! ' ' 

And  the  man  dashed  across  the  street,  hailing  some  one 
who  was  passing.  There  was  a  few  minutes  of  whispered 
conversation,  and  then  Love  joy  came  back.  "An  office- 
seeker, "  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "He's  got  an  office  he 
wasn't  looking  for." 

They  went  on.  "Maybe  you're  an  office-seeker  your- 
self," said  Allan,  in  reply.  "How  else  did  you  happen  to 
be  here?" 

"I'm  a  war-seeker,"  said  the  other;  "that's  all  I  am. 
I've  been  here  two  weeks  expecting  it." 

"You  seem  to  have  foreseen  everything,"  Allan  re- 
marked. 

"No,"  was  the  reply;  "I  foresaw  war,  as  you  know, 
years  ago — but  I  never  thought  of  its  coming  as  it  has. 
It's  made  me  feel  a  little  foolish.  You  see,  we're  not  the 
aggressors,  so  we  are  ten  times  as  strong. ' ' 

Lovejoy  went  on  in  silence  for  a  few  moments — then 
he  added:  "It  seems  that  somebody's  been  managing 
things  for  us — the  Lord,  it  may  be.  Surely  it  wasn't 
that  president  we've  got!" 

"You  don't  think  much  of  the  President?"  Allan  asked. 

11  Think  much  of  him!"  cried  the  other.  "Why,  good 
God,  Montague,  I  never  heard  of  anything  like  it — it 
makes  a  man's  heart  go  down  into  his  shoes  to  think  of  it !" 


322  MANASSAS 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?" 

"What  isn't  the  matter  with  him!  We  needed  a  states 
man,  we  needed  a  man  to  command — as  we  never  needed 
one  in  our  history  before  and  never  will  need  one  again. 
And  we've  got  a  simpleton  of  a  backwoods  lawyer — don't 
ask  me  about  it!  He  doesn't  know  anything  about  any- 
thing or  anybody;  he  has  no  tact,  no  sense — why.  some 
of  the  stories  that  people  tell  of  the  things  he's  said  and 
done  fairly  make  your  hair  stand  on  end!  I'm  no  cad — 
it  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  me  if  the  man  hasn't 
ever  been  into  society,  and  wears  black  kid  gloves  at  the 
opera  and  horrifies  the  swells  of  New  York.  There  are  men 
here  who'd  stand  by  him  if  he  went  to  the  opera  in  his 
shirt-sleeves.  But  the  man  can't  please  anybody — every 
one's  given  him  up,  so  far  as  I  can  find  out.  He  is  incom- 
petence spelt  in  letters  a  foot  high — they  say  it  takes 
him  a  week  to  make  up  his  mind  about  a  country  post- 
office,  and  then  he  changes  it  over  night." 

Lovejoy  strode  on,  his  brows  knit.  "And  yet,"  he 
continued,  suddenly,  "the  man  means  well — he's  kind- 
hearted,  you  can  see  that  by  just  looking  at  him.  I  stood  in 
front  of  him  while  he  read  his  Inaugural,  and  I  don 't  think 
I  ever  saw  anything  so  pathetic.  The  poor  man  was  so 
nervous  he  could  hardly  hold  the  manuscript;  and  his 
spectacles  seemed  to  get  moist  with  his  agitation — he 
couldn't  see  through  them,  and  his  hands  shook  so  he 
couldn't  manage  to  wipe  them,  and  his  voice  kept  break- 
ing— I  thought  he  was  going  all  to  pieces.  It  made  you 
want  to  cry,  he  seemed  so  pitiful.  You  see  he's  had  no 
experience  in  office,  and  he  isn't  equal  to  it.  He  hardly 
knows  where  to  turn. ' ' 

The  speaker  became  silent.  "All  that  is  fearfully 
discouraging, ' '  said  Allan,  in  a  low  voice. 

"No!"  the  other  cried,  slapping  his  thigh.  "No!  it 
needn't  be  discouraging — not  with  the  temper  of  the 
country  as  it  is.  It  will  sweep  everything  before  it,  it  will 
find  out  the  way,  depend  upon  it — it  will  find  some  man 
to  take  charge  in  the  end.  It  simply  means  that  we  men 
who  are  to  do  the  fighting  have  got  to  get  in  and  fight  so 


THE  STORM  323 

much  the  harder,  Montague.  And  above  all,  that  we've 
got  to  do  it  quickly!  The  troops  have  been  called  for 
three  months — before  God  I  tell  you  I  think  we've  got 
to  have  the  war  won  by  then,  or  else  not  win  it  at  all ! ' ' 

''Why  is  that?"  the  other  asked. 

"The  country  11  be  bankrupt,  that's  why!  Go  about 
in  these  hotels  in  Washington  and  use  your  eyes — last 
week  they  were  jammed  with  office-seekers,  but  already 
there's  a  bigger  horde  coming  down — of  contractors! 
They've  come  like  buzzards — there  are  droves  of  them  on 
every  train,  and  they're  simply  going  to  eat  the  bowels  out 
of  the  country." 

The  speaker  shut  his  jaw  with  a  snap.  He  strode  on, 
his  hands  clenched.  "Do  you  know  anything  about 
Cameron?"  he  demanded,  suddenly. 

"The  Secretary  of  War,  you  mean?    Nothing  much." 

"Cameron's  a  Pennsylvania  politician  whom  Lincoln's 
managers  bribed  with  a  cabinet  position  to  get  his  dele- 
gates at  Chicago.  Cameron's  one  of  those  gentlemen  in 
politics  who  are  honest,  and  have  'heelers'  to  do  the  dirty 
work.  I  suppose  there's  been  more  rottenness  in  Penn- 
sylvania politics  under  his  rule  than  there  has  been  any- 
where else  in  the  country  outside  of  New  York.  And 
now  he's  got  charge  of  the  pocket-book  of  the  nation,  and 
all  the  boys  are  out  celebrating.  Money  will  have  to  be 
spent  hand  over  fist,  you  know — the  things  must  be  had, 
and  no  time  to  haggle  or  ask  questions.  And  of  course 
no  one  will  ever  know  about  it, — except  that  you  and  I 
who  are  to  do  the  work  will  have  shoddy  blankets,  and 
shoes  that  fall  apart,  and  guns  that  won't  shoot,  and  pow- 
der that  won't  burn.  For  every  dollar  that  buys  anything 
there  '11  be  two  stolen  besides. ' ' 

"But,  Love  joy,"  cried  Allan,  wildly,  "how  can  you  hope 
to  put  down  this  thing  in  three  months  ? ' ' 

"It  seems  impossible  I  know,"  was  the  response.  "The 
Montgomery  government,  you'd  think,  must  prove  a  hard 
nut  to  crack;  but  you've  only  to  hit  it  once,  and  you'll 
find  out  that  it's  only  an  eggshell!" 

* '  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? ' '  Allan  demanded. 


324  MANASSAS 

"I  mean  Slavery,  that's  what  I  mean!"  cried  Lovejoy. 
"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  a  nation  can  fight  that  has 
four  million  of  black  people — half  as  many  as  there  are 
white — to  be  held  down  by  force?" 

"You  expect  the  slaves  to  rise?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  expect  them  to  do — I  expect  them 
to  rise  or  to  run  away — I  expect  them  to  do  whatever  I 
should  do  if  I  were  there  in  their  places.  I  only  know 
that  just  as  sure  as  an  army  marches  into  Virginia,  and  an- 
other down  the  Mississippi,  you'll  see  a  universal  smash-up 
and  cave-in  that  will  make  the  South  think  the  Judg- 
ment-day has  struck  it!" 

Allan  stood  lost  in  wonder,  saying  nothing.  Before  he 
spoke  again  his  companion  had  espied  another  man  that 
he  knew,  and  darted  away  in  chase.  "It's  the  same  mis- 
take he  made  with  John  Brown,"  Allan  found  himself 
thinking,  and  was  on  the  point  of  beginning  an  argument, 
when  the  other  returned.  But  their  attention  was  sud- 
denly drawn  away  by  the  sound  of  distant  cheering,  that 
seemed  to  grow  louder  as  they  listened.  Everything  upon 
the  street  stood  suddenly  still;  and  then  a  moment  later 
came  the  faint  strains  of  military  music,  and  Lovejoy  gave 
a  yell.  "  It 's  the  troops ! "  he  cried.  ' l  They  've  come ! ' ' 

The  two  started  down  the  avenue,  most  of  the  crowd 
following.  Every  moment  the  music  came  nearer,  a  pro- 
longed and  incessant  shouting  accompanying  it.  Suddenly 
the  people  on  the  avenue  broke  out  into  cheers — the  head 
of  a  column  had  swept  into  sight — it  was  coming  on,  in  a 
cloud  of  dust.  It  was  just  about  sunset,  and  the  street 
was  thronged;  the  crowd  grew  denser  every  moment,  and 
one  could  read  the  sentiments  of  each  person,  surprised  out 
of  their  concealment  by  this  unexpected  apparition.  Some 
cheered  and  sang — others  kept  silence. 

They  were  five  companies  of  Pennsylvania  troops.  They 
had  come  on  without  waiting  for  arms — there  were  arms 
enough  in  Washington.  They  were  spread  out  in  open 
formation  to  disguise  the  paucity  of  their  numbers,  and 
they  came  with  banners  waving  and  music  sounding, 
and  volley  after  volley  of  cheers  along  their  way.  The 


THE  STORM  325 

t wo  friends  turned  and  went  back  to  the  Capitol  with  them, 
ready  to  dance  for  joy. 

They  enrolled  themselves  for  the  night  in  Lane 's  ' '  Fron- 
tier Guards, ' '  which  were  then  assembling  upon  the  Capitol 
grounds.  There  were  strange  sights  to  see  here — the 
doors  and  windows  of  the  building  were  boarded  up  and 
barricaded,  a  breastwork  of  cement  barrels  was  piled  along 
the  front  of  the  portico,  and  cannon  and  sentries  were 
guarding  every  approach.  The  temporary  volunteers 
were  receiving  their  arms —  a  motley  assemblage  of  per- 
haps half  a  hundred  men,  "  down-East ' '  Yankees  and 
Kansas  frontiersmen,  would-be  post-masters,  surveyors, 
collectors  and  Indian  agents — politicians  and  farmers, 
clergymen,  travelling  salesmen,  and  sightseers.  There 
was  "Jim"  Lane  himself,  talking  always  as  if  he  were  on 
the  stump,  brandishing  a  shiny  new  sword — a  wild  per- 
sonage clad  in  a  calfskin  vest  and  sealskin  coat.  He  had 
been  a  lifelong  and  vociferous  politician,  and  was  soon  to 
be  a  general  of  armies;  and  by  him  the  weird  command 
was  marched  to  the  White  House,  and  into  the  "East 
Room/'  one  of  the  halls  of  state  of  the  presidential  man- 
sion. Here  were  gorgeous  plush  upholstery  and  hangings, 
frescoed  ceilings,  velvet  carpets,  and  glowing  chandeliers; 
and  here  the  volunteers  stacked  their  muskets,  and  un- 
slung  their  knapsacks  and  cartridge-boxes,  and  spread 
themselves  for  the  night.  It  was  a  thing  never  to  be  for- 
gotten, to  have  seen  this  motley  assemblage  of  men,  old 
and  young,  rich  and  poor,  big  and  little,  clad  in  every 
kind  of  costume  to  be  found  on  the  continent,  lined  up 
and  in  desperate  seriousness  taking  their  first  lessons  in 
squad-drill.  Later  on  you  might  have  seen  them  stretched 
out  in  the  corners,  sound  asleep,  or  with  their  feet  on  the 
sofas,  reading  newspapers,  or  squatted  in  groups  on  the 
carpet,  swapping  yarns  and  playing  cards. 

No  uprising  occurred  to  disturb  them  or  to  test  their 
resolution.  They  had  one  unexpected  experience  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  however, — a  startling  one  for  Allan. 
He  noticed  a  group  gathered  in  the  doorway,  and  several 


326  MANASSAS 

moving  to  join  it;  then  suddenly  Lovejoy  nudged  him 
and  whispered,  ' '  Look  there ! ' ' 

Allan  turned  and  stared.  In  the  great  doorway  he  saw 
an  enormous  figure  of  a  man,  reaching  nearly  to  the  top 
of  it,  his  impossible  height  accentuated  by  his  leanness 
and  by  the  tall  "  stove-pipe "  hat  that  was  set  upon  his 
head.  He  was  dressed  all  in  black,  in  a  suit  that  was  new 
and  shiny,  and  that  did  not  fit  him,  so  that  he  looked  ill 
at  ease,  like  an  undertaker's  assistant,  or  a  farm-hand  on 
his  way  to  a  prayer  meeting.  Out  of  the  sleeves  of  it 
there  projected  an  enormous  pair  of  hands,  which  he 
seemed  not  to  know  where  to  put.  He  wore  a  loose 
collar,  and  a  carelessly  knotted  tie,  the  ends  of  which 
stuck  out  over  his  coat ;  and  from  out  his  collar  there  rose 
a  lean  and  scrawny  yellow  neck,  surmounted  by  the  most 
peculiar  head  Allan  had  ever  seen  in  his  life.  It  had 
broad,  outstanding  ears,  and  on  top  of  it  was  a  shock  of 
wild,  rebellious  hair — below  it  a  rough,  bristly  stubble 
of  beard.  The  face  seemed  to  be  all  nose  and  mouth; 
standing  in  the  shadows  of  the  doorway  as  the  man  was, 
Allan  could  scarcely  see  the  little  twinkling  eyes  at  all. 
He  could  see  enough,  however,  to  connect  the  face  in  his 
memory  with  pictures  he  had  seen;  and  he  started  up  in 
wonder,  and  caught  Lovejoy 's  arm,  whispering  beneath 
his  breath/* It's  the  President!" 

"It's  the  President,"  Lovejoy  responded. 

Most  of  the  men  in  the  room,  seeing  him,  rose  up;  and 
he  looked  about  a  moment,  a  smile  lighting  up  his  odd 
features  as  he  noted  the  strange  incongruities.  "Be  care- 
ful of  my  furniture,  boys/'  he  said,  suddenly.  "It's  only 
mine  for  a  while,  you  know,  and  I  have  to  pass  it  along  in 
good  condition." 

"We'll  take  care  of  it,  Mr.  President,"  said  some  one. 

"Maybe,"  went  on  the  other,  laughing,  "the  rebels  are 
coming  to  capture  it.  I  don't  care  how  much  you  spoil  it 
then." 

"They'll  never  get  it!"  cried  several  voices.  "Never 
— don't  you  worry!"  The  men  were  beginning  to  crowd 


THE  STOKM  327 

round  the  President,  whose  huge  figure  towered  head  and 
shoulders  above  them — to  say  nothing  of  the  enormous 
cylinder  of  a  hat.  Standing  just  in  front  of  him  was  a 
little  drummer  boy,  in  the  uniform  of  the  regular  army; 
and  suddenly  Mr.  Lincoln  put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder 
and  began  to  chuckle  gleefully,  demanding:  "Any  of 
you  people  ever  heard"  (Mr.  Lincoln  pronounced  it 
"heerd")  "the  story  of  the  Peterby  boys  and  the 
mule!" 

"No,"  said  several  voices. 

"You  fellows  have  come  from  so  many  parts  of  the 
world, ' '  said  the  speaker.  ' '  I  didn  't  know  but  what  there 
might  be  somebody  from  Sangamon  County,  out  my  way. 
If  there  was,  he'd  have  surely  heerd  of  the  Peterby  boys 
and  the  mule. ' ' 

"Tell  it,"  said  some  one. 

"That's  what  I'm  going  to  do,"  was  the  reply;  and 
when  the  crowd  had  stopped  laughing  and  applauding, 
the  President  went  on — as  he  spoke  laughter  taking  more 
and  more  possession  of  his  face,  until  it  was  wrinkled  up 
and  drawn  out  of  shape  beyond  description. 

"There  were  six  of  the  Peterby  boys  in  the  Sangamon 
bottom,"  he  began,  "and  the  biggest  of  them  was  about 
twenty,  and  the  youngest  of  them  about  eleven,  and  there 
never  had  been  any  one  of  them  known  to  do  any  work. 
Naturally,  they  were  not  good  neighbors;  and  they  lived 
next  to  an  old  fellow  named  Harper, — Captain  Harper, 
we  used  to  call  him,  though  I  never  knew  why, — who 
was  the  Grossest  old  reprobate  a  man  ever  laid  eyes  on,  and 
was  always  quarreling  with  the  Peterby  boys.  They  used 
to  rob  his  corn-field,  and  he'd  watch  for  them  moonlight 
nights  with  a  shot-gun, — they  never  let  on  to  him,  but 
many  and  many  a  time  they've  had  to  pick  some  of  Cap- 
tain Harper's  bird-shot  out  of  each  other's  backs  with  their 
jack-knives!  Well,  it  seems  that  Captain  Harper  had  a 
mule  that  was  a  fearful  mule,  and  would  kick  a  wagon  into 
match-wood  whenever  he  got  excited.  He  hitched  it  in 
the  town  one  day  while  he  went  into  the  store  to  do  his 
trading,  and  while  he  was  gone  the  Peterby  boys  got  a 


328  MANASSAS 

bunch  of  fire-crackers  and  set  it  under  the  mule."  (At 
this  point  the  narrator  fell  to  laughing  so  hard  that  he 
had  to  stop  for  a  moment.)  "They  just  had  them  under- 
neath, and  everything  ready,  and  Nick  Peterby  about  to 
touch  a  match  to  them — when  all  of  a  sudden  here  comes 
old  Harper  strolling  out  of  the  store.  Of  course  they  got 
up  and  lit  out  for  dear  life,  expecting  to  be  chased;  but 
instead,  the  old  cuss  stood  in  the  door  without  even 
swearing,  so  they  turned  around  and  stared  at  him.  'Go 
ahead,  consarn  ye!'  says  he — 'bio,/  him  to  hell,  if  you 
like — I  don't  care  what  you  do  to  him!'  At  that  natu- 
rally they  stared  all  the  harder.  'What  do  you  mean?' 
cries  one  of  them.  'Mean!'  yells  Harper,  'I  mean  you 
can  put  a  barrel  of  firecrackers  under  him  if  you  want 
to.  I've  jest  sold  the  wagon  to  your  dad!'  ' 

And  then,  while  the  crowd  roared,  the  President  bent 
over  and  doubled  up  with  laughter,  shaking  as  if  in  a  fit. 
When  finally  he  turned  and  went  away,  they  could  hear 
the  sounds  of  his  mirth  all  the  way  down  the  hall,  and  up 
the  stairway. 


CHAPTER  V 

"You  know,"  said  Love  joy,  when  the  two  had  gone 
apart  after  this  incident  and  sat  down  to  stare  at  each 
other — "you  know  there's  something  great  about  a  man 
who  can  come  out  of  the  backwoods  into  the  White  House 
and  do  as  that  man  does.  It  may  be  it 's  nothing  but  blind- 
ness, but  it's  blindness  that's  epic  in  its  proportion — it's 
blindness  that  amounts  to  genius!  Is  it  really  that  he  is 
so  obtuse  that  he  doesn't  know  the  effect  he  produces? 
Or  doesn't  he  care,  or  is  it  a  pose,  or  what?  I  declare 
I  can 't  fathom  him — he 's  too  much  for  me. ' ' 

"The  crowd  seemed  to  like  it,"  said  Allan;  "but  does 
he  do  like  that  all  the  time?" 

"That!"  cried  the  other.  "That  isn't  a  circumstance. 
I  suppose  so  far  as  stories  go,  and  smutty  stories  in  par- 
ticular, the  senators  and  congressmen  when  they  get 
together  socially  tell  them  about  as  much  as  any  other 
men.  But  this  man  tells  them  all  the  time — he  doesn't 
care  who  it  is,  a  diplomat  or  a  duke  or  a  bishop;  and  he 
doesn  't  care  where  it  is,  at  some  formality,  some  reception. 
And  he  sends  them  away,  you  know  with  their  heads  reeling 
— and  he  doesn't  seem  to  have  the  slightest  idea  of  it  all! 
They  say,  though,  that  sometimes  he  uses  them  to  get  rid 
of  the  office  seekers — that  he  positively  scares  them  out 
of  the  place!" 

After  midnight  the  poker-playing  and  story-telling 
ceased,  and  the  "Frontier  Guards"  wrapped  themselves 
in  slumber  on  the  floor  of  their  palatial  quarters.  Toward 
morning  Allan  received  an  answer  to  his  dispatch,  inform- 
ing him  that  the  Fifth  had  not  yet  been  called ;  this  decided 
him  to  continue  on  to  Boston,  as  he  had  originally  intended. 
He  wished  to  bid  farewell  to  his  home  before  the  fighting 
came  on,  and  the  news  in  the  papers  was  that  the  Massa- 

329 


330  MANASSAS 

chusetts  Sixth  had  left  Philadelphia  the  night  before  and 
would  surely  reach  Washington  that  morning — as  also 
probably  the  Eighth.  That  meant,  Allan  judged,  that 
there  was  no  longer  need  of  fear  for  the  capital;  and  so, 
soon  after  dawn,  while  the  company  was  still  fast  asleep, 
he  said  good-by  to  his  friend  and  took  the  train  for  the 
North. 

The  rumors  concerning  Harper 's  Ferry  had  proven  true, 
and  one  more  calamity  had  fallen  upon  the  startled  nation. 
The  cars  were  crowded  with  fugitives,  mostly  women  and 
children,  the  families  of  diplomats  and  correspondents  and 
other  residents  of  Washington,  who  were  taking  flight  from 
the  scene  of  the  impending  conflict.  Everywhere  one  saw 
frightened  faces,  and  heard  whispered  rumors  of  fresh  dis- 
asters. Allan  kept  an  anxious  lookout,  for  he  expected 
every  minute  to  pass  the  train  bringing  South  the  troops 
upon  which  so  much  depended.  It  did  not  appear,  however, 
and  he  began  to  feel  alarmed  once  more,  and  to  wish  that 
he  had  waited  another  day. 

In  a  couple  of  hours  they  were  in  Baltimore.  The  trains 
from  Washington  in  those  days  came  into  Camden  Station, 
and  thence  each  car  was  drawn  separately  through  Pratt 
Street  by  horses,  to  the  President  Street  Station,  about  a 
mile  and  a  half  away,  where  they  were  again  made  into  a 
train  for  Philadelphia.  There  was  some  delay  upon  reach- 
ing the  city,  and  Allen  left  the  cars  and  started  to  walk. 

All  that  he  had  read  had  led  him  to  expect  that  he 
would  find  disorder  in  Baltimore.  But  he  was  not  pre- 
pared for  what  he  found — the  depot  and  the  street  for  a 
block  around  were  thronged  with  excited  people,  and  when 
he  got  clear  of  them  and  went  on  he  found  men  running  up 
the  street  and  calling  to  each  other,  as  if  something  alarm- 
ing were  then  just  transpiring.  He  saw  several  pointing 
up  Pratt  Street,  and  hearing  distant  shouting  from  that 
direction,  started  to  run  himself.  Turning  the  corner  he 
saw  a  throng  in  the  distance.  "It's  the  soldiers  coming!71 
shouted  a  man,  in  answer  to  his  inquiry. 

From  all  the  side  streets  people  were  hurrying  up,  and 


THE  STORM  331 

every  moment  the  throng  about  Allan  grew  denser  and  the 
uproar  greater.  They  were  in  a  "tough"  part  of  the 
city,  near  the  water-front,  and  most  of  the  people  were  of 
the  rowdy  sort.  Allan  noticed  that  many  of  them  carried 
sticks,  and  a  few  of  them  more  dangerous  weapons.  He 
ran  on,  his  heart  thumping  fast. 

The  black  mass  of  people  up  Pratt  Street  was  coming 
his  way;  they  were  shouting,  jeering — the  noise  was  like 
the  roaring  of  a  sea,  and  it  grew  each  moment  louder, 
harsher,  more  ominous.  At  first  Allan  could  only  see  the 
crowd,  but,  coming  nearer,  he  made  out  that  in  their  midst 
was  one  of  the  railroad  cars  ;  they  were  running  before  it 
and  beside  it,  shaking  their  fists  at  it,  throwing  stones  at 
it,  cursing  and  yelling.  The  young  man  halted,  waiting, 
thunderstruck  ;  surely  no  one  could  have  been  such  a  fool 
as  to  try  to  send  troops  through  this  city  shut  up  in  cars  ! 
Why  in  Heaven's  name  not  let  them  march  through  ?  Had 
there  not  been  warnings  enough  —  secession-meetings  and 
speeches,  threats  in  the  newspapers,  predictions  from  the 
South  ?  The  "plug-ugly  "of  Baltimore,  a  ferocious  rowdy, 
bred  out  of  Slavery  for  political  purposes,  was  known  by 
reputation  all  over  the  country  ;  and  to  send  the  soldiers 
through  the  haunts  of  such  a  creature,  shut  up  in  cars  like 
sheep  ! 

Allan's  indignation  was  all  the  greater,  for  these,  he 
knew,  must  be  the  Massachusetts  troops.  The  mob  knew 
it  also  —  he  caught  snatches  of  their  cries  here  and  there. 
They  were  close  enough  now  for  him  to  see  them  plainly  ; 
they  came  on  at  a  run,  for  the  horses  of  the  car  were  trot- 
ting —  a  throng  of  howling  ruffians,  old  and  young,  some 
of  them  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  some  of  them  drunk,  all  with 
paving-stones  or  clubs  in  their  hands.  The  windows  of  the 
car  were  closed,  and  the  curtains  drawn,  and  the  inmates 
gave  no  sign.  The  crowd  beat  upon  it,  and  now  and  then 
they  would  try  to  stop  the  horses.  The  windows  of  all  the 
houses  along  the  way  were  open,  and  from  them  people 
yelled  imprecations.  "Bean-eaters,"  they  called  these  un- 
fortunate Bostonians,  also  "mamma's  darlings,"  "kid- 
gloved  soldier-boys,"  "  counter-jumpers,"  and  innumerable 


332  MANASSAS 

other  descriptive  epithets  not  to  be  transcribed.  Allan 
stepped  into  a  doorway  while  the  storm  swept  by,  trailing 
out  behind  for  a  block  or  two.  He  thought  of  following, 
but  instead  went  on,  knowing  that  there  would  be  other 
cars  to  come.  The  result  of  the  criminal  folly  of  those  in 
charge  would  of  course  be  that  the  regiment  would  be  split 
up  into  two  or  three  dozen  sections,  instead  of  marching  as 
a  unit. 

He  was  not  mistaken  ;  soon  he  heard  the  roar  of  the 
mob  again,  and  saw  another  car  sweep  round  the  corner 
far  down  the  street.  It  came  on  as  before,  only  this  time 
the  crowd  seemed  even  denser  and  more  violent.  It  went 
by,  and  again  and  again  the  same  thing  happened,  while 
every  instant  the  excitement  grew  fiercer.  The  young 
man,  staring  about  him,  could  not  but  conclude  that  this 
outbreak  had  been  premeditated,  for  the  rowdies  were 
pouring  in  from  every  direction,  sometimes  whole  gangs 
of  them  flying  down  the  side  streets  together,  and  each 
man  of  them  with  a  weapon  ready  to  hand.  Guns  and 
pistols  were  becoming  frequent  also  —  and  Allan  noticed 
too  that  for  some  reason  several  loads  of  paving-stones  had 
been  dumped  on  Pratt  Street,  of  which  the  mob  was  not 
failing  to  take  advantage.  He  was  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
whirlpool,  and  never  had  he  seen  such  rage  upon  the  faces 
of  men  as  he  saw  here,  never  had  he  heard  such  furious 
imprecations.  Every  time  a  car  came  by  the  yelling  would 
swell  into  a  deafening  roar  ;  the  rush  of  the  crowd  was 
like  a  charge  of  cavalry,  sweeping  everything  before  it,  and 
there  would  be  no  way  for  him  to  escape  save  by  running 
into  a  side  street  or  an  open  doorway.  Several  times  he 
heard  shots  fired  ;  and  once  as  the  car  was  directly  opposite 
him  a  man  dashed  out  and  with  terrific  force  hurled  a  cobble- 
stone clean  through  the  side  of  it.  At  the  same  time  others 
were  trying  to  drag  the  driver  from  his  place.  Allan  sprang 
out  and  followed,  feeling  sure  that  the  climax  was  coming 
here  —  that  the  troops  would  be  compelled  to  come  out. 

Before  long,  however,  he  halted  and  turned  back,  for  up 
the  street  he  heard  men  yelling  and  saw  that  they  were 
trying  to  tear  up  the  track.  For  lack  of  better  tools  they 


THE   STOKM  333 

had  taken  an  anchor  off  a  schooner  which  lay  in  the  basin, 
and  whose  bowsprit  projected  out  over  the  sidewalk. 
When  he  reached  the  place,  they  had  dug  a  hole  with 
a  pickaxe  and  had  gotten  one  prong  of  the  anchor  under 
the  track,  and  were  ripping  it  up.  At  the  same  time 
down  a  side  street  came  a  drunken  Irishman,  roaring  and 
singing,  driving  a  mule  and  a  cart  full  of  gravel  ;  this  he 
upset  on  the  track,  to  the  delight  of  the  howling  mob  that 
surrounded  him.  The  press  was  now  so  great  that  it  was 
not  easy  to  move  on  the  street  —  those  who  had  escorted 
the  first  cars  to  the  depot  had  no  doubt  returned  by  this 
time.  A  little  way  farther  down,  a  creek  which  runs 
through  Baltimore  —  Jones's  Falls  —  crossed  the  street, 
and  here  they  were  breaking  up  the  planks  of  the  bridge 
to  bar  the  way.  Standing  upon  an  empty  barrel  was  a 
black-whiskered  desperado  with  a  bowie-knife  in  his  hand, 
making  a  speech,  principally  of  oaths.  "  Don't  let  another 
one  of  them  get  by!"  was  the  burden  of  his  remarks. 
"  Kill  the  damned  nigger-thieves  !  Send  them  to  hell 
where  they  came  from  !  " 

The  next  car  came  into  sight,  and  the  crowds  surged  on 
to  meet  it  ;  every  pane  of  glass  in  it  was  shattered  already, 
and  one  of  the  horses  which  hauled  it  had  been  shot  in  the 
leg  and  could  hardly  move  ;  the  car  had  been  derailed 
somehow,  and  was  bumping  along  on  the  rough  cobble- 
stones. Leaping  at  the  windows  of  it  were  men  with 
knives  and  revolvers,  and  as  it  came  near  Allan  there 
were  several  shots.  A  moment  or  two  later  there  came  a 
blaze  of  light  from  the  windows  of  one  side,  and  the  mob 
fell  back,  screaming  with  rage.  Two  men  lay  rolling  on 
the  ground,  and  a  third  was  dragging  himself  away  from 
off  the  track  in  front.  A  fellow  rushed  by  Allan,  curs- 
ing like  a  fiend,  with  the  blood  pouring  from  the  sleeve  of 
his  coat,  and  from  a  gash  in  his  forehead. 

The  car  thumped  on  to  where  the  gravel  lay  upon  the 
track,  with  two  loaded  grocery  wagons  upset  beyond  it. 
The  doors  opened  and  the  men  rushed  out  and  began  to 
remove  the  obstructions.  The}7"  had  not  proceeded  very 
far,  however,  before  a  man  ran  up  to  them  from  out  of 

22 


334  MANASSAS 

the  crowd  ;  he  seemed  to  be  expostulating  with  the  officers 
in  command,  and  Allan  heard  some  one  near  him  say  that 
it  was  the  mayor  of  the  city.  In  a  few  moments  the  ex- 
cited colloquy,  which  Allan  did  not  venture  near  enough 
to  hear,  ended  with  the  horses  being  taken  to  the  other 
end  of  the  car,  the  soldiers  reentering  it,  and  the  driver 
whipping  up  and  returning  in  the  direction  from  which 
they  had  come.  At  this  sign  of  the  victory  the  crowd 
surged  forward  again,  roaring  with  delight. 

Allan  followed,  blazing  with  indignation.  They  were 
going  to  give  up,  then  !  They  were  going  to  give  up  and 
leave  the  capital  of  the  nation  to  its  fate,  because  there 
was  no  man  there  with  resolution  enough  to  put  himself 
at  the  head  of  the  regiment  and  march  it  through  that 
villainous  horde  —  blow  it  to  pieces  with  a  volley,  if  there 
were  no  other  way  !  He  was  almost  beside  himself — he 
longed  to  seize  some  weapon  himself  and  strike  down  the 
nearest  of  the  ruffians.  Would  there  never  be  an  end  to 
the  humiliation,  would  the  nation  never  find  its  manhood  ? 

Borne  along  in  the  torrent  of  people  he  went  back  with 
the  car  to  the  President  Street  Station —  and  there  sud- 
denly he  saw  a  sight  that  made  his  blood  leap.  The  rest 
of  the  regiment  was  leaving  the  train  and  forming  upon 
the  street. 

He  could  not  see  them,  after  they  had  stepped  from  the 
car  platforms,  for  the  crowd  which  surged  about  them. 
He  could  see  their  flags,  however,  —  there  was  the  Massa- 
chusetts State  flag,  and  there  was  a  regimental  flag  with 
their  number  on  it, —  yes,  it  was  the  long-expected  Sixth  ! 
There  were  four  companies  left  to  make  the  march,  some 
two  hundred  men  in  all ;  much  to  Allan's  relief  every  man 
he  saw  come  out  had  a  musket  in  his  hand.  Above  all 
the  uproar  he  heard  the  sharp,  determined  commands  of 
the  officers,  and  a  few  moments  later  the  crowd  surged 
backwards,  and  the  flags  began  their  advance. 

A  howl  went  up  from  the  mob  ;  a  man  pushed  past  Allan, 
a  butcher,  by  his  costume,  a  huge  brute  with  the  voice  of 
a  stentor,  and  a  secession  flag  nailed  upon  a  pole  in  his 
hands.  The  crowd  massed  themselves  behind  him,  and 


THE   STOEM  335 

rushed  upon  the  troops,  hissing,  jeering,  throwing  stones, 
and  yelling  for  "Jeff.  Davis."  Allan  lost  sight  of  the 
man,  but  he  could  follow  the  flag  ;  he  saw  it  strike  at 
the  flag  of  the  regiment  and  knock  it  down  ;  then,  running 
up  the  steps  of  a  house,  he  was  just  in  time  to  see  an  officer 
leap  out  with  drawn  sword,  and  slamming  the  hilt  of  it 
into  the  ruffian's  face,  knock  him  backwards,  head  over 
heels.  The  officer  then  seized  the  flag,  and  ripping  it  from 
the  pole,  stuffed  it  into  his  pocket  and  went  on. 

At  the  head  of  the  column  now  marched  the  gentleman 
Allan  had  been  told  was  the  mayor ;  he  was  exhorting  and 
imploring,  and  with  half  a  dozen  policemen  was  constantly 
beating  back  the  throng  from  in  front  of  the  advancing 
troops.  His  position  was  a  perilous  one,  for  brickbats  and 
paving-stones  were  flying,  and  occasionally  there  came  a 
shot  ;  Allan  saw  a  man  upon  the  roof  of  one  of  the  houses 
hurl  down  a  heavy  plank  upon  the  column,  knocking  one  of 
the  militiamen  senseless.  A  few  moments  afterwards  he 
saw  another  man  standing  in  an  upstairs  window,  with  a 
gun  in  his  hand  ;  he  raised  it  and  took  aim,  and  Allan  gave 
a  cry  of  warning.  One  of  the  soldiers  had  seen  it  already, 
however  —  there  was  a  flash  and  a  report,  and  the  man 
tottered  and  pitched  headlong  to  the  street. 

Fully  ten  thousand  yelling  demons  were  now  swarming 
about  the  little  company,  and  the  din  was  indescribable. 
Every  now  and  then  shots  would  be  fired,  sometimes  half 
a  dozen  in  succession.  A  fellow  near  Allan  was  struck, 
and  being  without  arms  himself  and  unable  to  do  anything, 
the  young  man  turned  into  a  side  street  until  the  troops 
had  passed.  When  the  rear  of  the  column  was  by,  he  tried 
to  fall  in  behind  it  and  follow  again,  but  it  was  at  least 
two  blocks  distant  before  he  could  get  into  Pratt  Street, 
so  dense  was  the  throng.  The  frenzy  of  the  mob  was 
demoniac  —  there  were  women  among  them,  too,  ragged 
creatures  with  streaming  hair  and  wild  eyes,  screaming 
for  vengeance  upon  the  "nigger-thieves."  Firing  was 
still  going  on  quite  steadily,  and  among  the  crowd  Allan 
saw  several  wounded  men  being  carried  into  houses.  He 
saw  also  three  dead  militiamen,  one  with  a  bullet  hole  in 


336  MANASSAS 

his  breast.  The  mob  had  stripped  him  of  his  weapons, 
and  they  had  beaten  him  in  the  head  and  face  with 
cudgels  and  paving-stones  until  he  was  scarcely  to  be 
known  for  a  human  being.  Drunken  ruffians  were  still 
dancing  about  the  body,  and  Allan  turned  away,  shudder- 
ing and  sick.  Only  once  before  had  he  ever  seen  any- 
thing like  this  —  at  Harper's  Ferry,  after  the  John  Brown 
raid.  Now,  as  then,  the  monster  Slavery  was  sating  its 
lust  for  blood.  The  thing  cried  out  to  heaven  —  how 
much  oftener  would  the  monster  Slavery  be  allowed  to 
sate  its  lust  for  blood  ? 

He  was  consumed  by  anxiety,  for  there  was  every  rea- 
son to  think  that  the  little  command  would  be  torn  to 
pieces  before  the  dreadful  march  was  over.  Before  long 
the  crowd  before  him  came  to  a  halt,  and  from  the  deafen- 
ing roar  in  front  he  became  convinced  that  the  column 
had  been  blocked  and  a  massacre  begun.  There  was  no 
way  for  him  to  get  forward,  and  so  he  passed  an  agonized 
quarter  of  an  hour  before  he  finally  learned  the  cause  of 
the  stoppage  —  that  the  mob  had  succeeded  in  blocking 
itself  instead  of  the  troops,  at  the  bridge  ;  the  latter  had 
skipped  across  upon  the  rafters,  a  process  which  naturally 
took  the  thousands  who  followed  it  a  much  longer  time. 
By  the  time  that  Allan  got  to  the  bridge  the  pressure  had 
ceased,  and  he  heard  it  said  that  the  "nigger-thieves" 
were  on  the  cars  and  out  of  the  city.  He  drew  a  breath 
of  relief,  having  no  means  of  knowing  the  true  state  of 
the  case  —  that  the  tracks  had  been  torn  up  in  front,  and 
that  the  train  was  surrounded  with  a  greater  crowd  than 
ever. 

Of  what  happened  there  he  heard  nothing  until  the  next 
day.  Before  he  reached  the  station  the  tide  had  set  the 
other  way,  and  he  heard  the  word  passed  that  there  were 
more  soldiers  at  the  Philadelphia  Depot  —  some  who  had 
never  left  the  cars.  Going  back  once  more  he  found  about 
a  thousand  Pennsylvania  troops,  unarmed,  with  the  mob 
surrounding  them  ;  already  the  latter  had  driven  out  the 
unfortunate  musicians  of  the  Sixth  Massachusetts,  who  had 
been  left  behind,  and  who  were  now  flying  for  their  lives 


THE   STORM  337 

through  the  city.  The  unarmed  men  in  the  cars  were  in 
a  desperate  plight,  for  they  could  not  go  forward,  and  there 
was  no  engine  to  be  had  to  take  them  back.  Quite  a 
crowd  of  Union  men  had  gathered  about  to  defend  them, 
however,  and  Allan,  snatohing  up  a  stick,  plunged  into  the 
melee  and  joined  these.  They  had  held  the  crowd  at  bay 
for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  but  it  seemed  then  as  if  they 
must  be  swept  out  of  the  way.  Before  the  worst  of  the 
mob  learned  of  the  situation,  however,  a  number  of  the 
city  police  fortunately  arrived,  and  these,  brandishing 
their  clubs  and  revolvers,  kept  up  the  fight  until  finally 
a  locomotive  came  and  the  train  started  off,  amid  a  din 
of  jeers  and  curses,  and  a  shower  of  stones.  Allan  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  into  one  of  the  cars  —  it  was  going  his 
way,  and  he  judged  it  not  a  time  to  stand  upon  ceremony. 
Most  of  the  unfortunate  fellows  on  the  train  were  as  white 
as  paper  with  fright,  and  as  for  Allan,  his  forehead  was 
cut,  and  his  clothing  was  half  torn  off  him. 

It  had  been  his  first  taste  of  fighting  —  he  had  come  to 
the  grapple  with  Slavery  at  last,  and  he  was  like  a  tiger. 
He  paced  up  and  down  the  aisles  of  the  car,  his  blood  run- 
ning in  his  veins  like  fire ;  he  wrung  his  hands  in  his  fury 
—  ah  God,  to  come  back  and  wipe  out  that  city!  To 
march  down  that  street  —  to  sweep  it  with  cannon,  if 
need  be  —  to  whirl  that  hellish  rabble  out  into  the  waters 
of  the  bay  !  And  it  would  be  done  —  it  would  be  done,  he 
knew !  They  would  tell  that  story  in  Massachusetts,  and 
the  blood  of  her  murdered  sons  would  not  call  out  in  vain  ! 
There  would  come  regiments  —  there  would  come  armies 
-  they  would  clear  a  pathway  for  the  nation,  never  fear ! 
The  train  went  so  slowly  !  Every  minute  that  outrage 
was  not  avenged  was  a  minute  of  torture  to  him.  At 
Havre-de-Grace  the  train  was  overtaken  by  the  express 
upon  which  Allan  was  supposed  to  be  a  passenger,  and 
he  was  glad  to  change  to  this.  All  the  way  to  Phila- 
delphia he  rode  upon  the  platform,  watching — watching 
for  the  Massachusetts  Eighth  that  was  but  a  few  hours 
behind,  and  that  would  go  on  and  do  the  work!  One 


338  MANASSAS 

regiment,  warned  and  determined,  could  do  it,  he  knew, 
with  a  single  volley. 

But  there  came  no  sign  of  troops,  and  when  he  reached 
Philadelphia  he  learned  that  the  telegraph  wires  were  cut, 
and  that  the  bridges  outside  of  Baltimore  were  said  to  have 
been  fired.  The  accounts  of  the  "  massacre  "  that  prevailed 
in  Philadelphia  told  of  hundreds  of  the  Sixth  having 
been  killed,  a  statement  which  Allan  could  not  be  sure 
was  untrue.  He  boarded  the  train  again,  and  went  on 
with  sinking  heart,  foreseeing  that  the  panic  which  pre- 
vailed would  cause  more  delay,  and  still  more  peril  to 
Washington. 

They  passed  the  train  with  the  regiments  on  board  at 
last,  and  toward  the  close  of  the  afternoon  they  arrived 
in  Jersey  City ;  there  they  found  a  crowd,  wild  with  excite- 
ment and  crazy  for  the  news.  The  telegraph  wires  being 
cut,  the  only  resources  of  the  newspaper  reporters  was  this 
express,  which  had  left  Baltimore  after  the  riot.  Allan 
had  wired  his  cousin  to  let  him  know  of  any  sudden 
orders  the  regiment  might  receive,  and  his  first  thought 
upon  stepping  off  the  ferry-boat  was  of  the  hotel  to  which 
he  had  directed  the  message  to  be  sent.  He  took  a  cab 
and  drove  there,  and  was  surprised  when  the  clerk,  upon 
his  inquiring,  handed  him  a  yellow  envelope.  He  tore  it 
open,  and  while  the  crowd  in  the  corridors  stared  at  him, 
with  his  torn  and  blood-stained  clothing,  he  read  the 
startling  news  that  Jack's  company  had  been  ordered  to 
join  the  Eighth  Regiment,  which  he  had  just  passed,  and 
would  arrive  in  time  to  take  the  train  with  the  New  York 
Seventh. 

"  What  time  does  the  Seventh  march?  "  Allan  demanded 
of  the  clerk. 

"They  may  have  started  now,"  the  man  answered. 
"They  were  to  leave  this  afternoon." 

He  was  going  back  to  Baltimore ! 


CHAPTER  V 

ALLAN  was  sure  that  the  regiment  had  not  passed  him 
anywhere,  but  still  he  was  anxious,  and  sprang  into  a  cab 
and  drove  in  haste  to  the  Armory,  on  Lafayette  Place.  As 
soon  as  he  came  near  he  saw  that  he  was  in  time.  The 
crowd  about  it  was  so  dense  that  the  cab  was  stopped  a 
hundred  yards  away,  and  he  was  forced  to  leave  it  and 
push  through  on  foot. 

There  was  a  mob  besieging  the  Armory  gates,  friends 
and  relatives  of  the  militiamen,  begging  to  be  admitted, 
and  Allan  had  difficulty  in  getting  by.  He  learned,  how- 
ever, that  the  "  Cambridge  Tigers  "  had  arrived,  and  when 
he  declared  that  his  errand  was  to  enlist,  the  doorkeepers 
consented  to  let  him  pass. 

The  main  hall  of  the  Armory  was  a  scene  of  confusion 
indescribable ;  there  was  packing  of  knapsacks,  rolling  of 
blankets,  loading  of  guns ;  men  flying  in  every  direction, 
muskets  stacked  here  and  there  ;  piles  of  baggage,  banners, 
drums,  musical  instruments,  camp-kettles,  upon  the  floor ; 
and  above  all  a  babel  of  voices,  shouts  and  laughter,  and 
cries  of  command.  Allan  saw  the  flag  of  the  Massachu- 
setts company  in  one  corner,  and  made  his  way  toward 
it.  There  was  Jack,  flushed  with  excitement,  talking 
eagerly  ;  and  suddenly  catching  sight  of  his  cousin  he 
made  a  dash  for  him,  crying  out  with  delight,  "Well, 
old  man !  " 

And  then,  all  at  once,  he  noticed  Allan's  condition,  and 
stared.  "  What  in  the  world  has  been  happening  to  you?  " 
he  cried. 

"  I  have  been  through  Baltimore,"  Allan  answered. 

And  Jack  gave  a  yell.  "  He's  been  through  Balti- 
more !  "  A  crowd  surrounded  them  in  an  instant  —  the 
cry  went  through  the  place,  "  A  man  from  Baltimore  I " 
and  every  instant  the  press  about  them  grew  greater. 

339 


340  MANASSAS 

The  militiamen  shouted  a  dozen  questions  at  once,, 
which  Allan  answered  as  fast  as  he  could.  He  could  not 
say  how  many  had  been  killed  and  wounded,  but  he  told 
what  he  had  seen,  and  they  listened  to  him  with  tense 
faces  and  burning  cheeks.  All  day  they  had  talked  and 
thought  of  nothing  but  this  news,  and  to  a  man  they  were 
ablaze  with  indignation.  Ah,  if  only  they  had  been  there 
—  how  different  it  would  have  been  ! 

But  there  was  little  time  just  then  for  questions  —  the 
crowd  melted  away  as  soon  as  it  had  gathered,  leaving  only 
Jack  and  a  few  of  his  friends.  The  regiment  had  been  on 
the  point  of  departure  for  a  couple  of  hours  ;  and  now  you 
could  hear  the  orderlies  calling  the  rolls  in  the  company 
rooms,  the  last  preliminary  to  the  start.  A  whirlwind  of 
preparation  had  seized  the  place  —  to  Allan  it  was  like  the 
living  presence  of  the  fervor  of  which  he  had  been  reading, 
and  his  heart  leaped  within  him.  It  was  what  he  had  been 
waiting  so  long  for,  what  he  had  prayed  so  long  for  !  How 
glorious  it  was  to  be  in  the  midst  of  this  throng  of  young 
men,  the  flower  of  the  city's  life  —  to  hear  their  eager  cries, 
to  see  the  grim  resolution  on  their  faces  !  And  they  were 
only  a  few  among  many —  all  over  the  land  the  same  thing 
was  going  on. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  come,  old  fellow  ! "  said  Jack,  again 
and  again.  "  You  are  going  with  us,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  will  if  I  can,"  the  other  answered.  "  Is  there  room 
forme?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Jack  ;  "  glad  to  get  you.  The  regula- 
tions call  for  seventy  in  a  company,  and  we've  not  sixty. 
We've  had  no  time  to  recruit." 

"  All  right,  then,"  Allan  answered. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  best  attend  to  enlisting  now,"  said  the 
other.  "  You  could  get  a  musket  here  in  the  Armory  — 
for  you  must  have  one,  you  know,  you  can't  go  through 
Baltimore  without  arms.  And  perhaps  you  can  get  some 
sort  of  a  uniform  instead  of  that  torn  coat  —  come  and  see 
Houghton  about  it." 

Houghton  was  the  captain  of  the  company.  "  He  got 
us  this  chance,"  Jack  went  on,  as  they  started  across  the 


THE   STORM  341 

hall.  "  You've  no  idea  what  a  wild  time  there  is  in  Bos- 
ton, Allan — with  all  the  men  and  the  companies  that 
want  to  go,  and  the  men  that  want  to  raise  more  com- 
panies !  Our  colonel's  a  slow-poke,  and  we  thought  we 
were  left ;  but  then  we  learned  that  the  Eighth  had  gone 
one  company  short,  and  Houghton  went  to  beg  for  the 
place.  There  were  half  a  dozen  ahead  of  him,  but  he  was 
a  classmate  of  the  governor's  in  college,  and  so  he  got  it. 
Just  think  —  we  only  got  the  notice  about  four  o'clock 
this  morning  !  " 

"  What  time  did  you  start  ?  "  Allan  asked. 

"  We  got  off  about  nine,"  said  Jack.  "  But,  Lord, 
what  a  flying  around  —  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  fellows 
got  left !  I  tell  you,  things  are  moving  up  there  !  We 
heard  just  before  we  left  that  our  regiment  had  been 
called,  and  starts  to-morrow.  They  were  to  get  the  Third 
off  for  Fortress  Monroe  to-day,  and  the  Fourth  has  gone 
already.  That  makes  five  regiments  out  of  Boston  in  five 
days  —  and  there  are  new  companies  drilling  already  in 
every  town  in  the  State  !  " 

The  formalities  of  Allan's  enlistment  were  brief  and 
to  the  point.  There  was  no  uniform  for  him,  but  they 
were  able  to  give  him  what  would  serve  for  the  time, — 
one  of  those  long  gray  coats  which  Governor  Andrew  had 
gotten  himself  into  hot  water  by  buying  three  months  be- 
fore. Also  they  gave  him  a  musket  —  the  touch  of  it  sent 
a  thrill  through  him.  How  his  fingers  had  itched  for  a 
musket  that  morning  !  It  made  him  feel  like  another  man 
to  have  it. 

The  two  went  back  to  their  corner.  "  How  is  every  one 
at  home  ?  "  Allan  inquired. 

"Every  one  is  well,"  said  the  young  lieutenant.  " Father 
says  he's  coming  down  to  Washington  to  see  us,  if  we 
don't  get  the  rebels  cleared  out  too  soon.  They  are  form- 
ing societies  at  home  to  raise  subscriptions  for  hospital 
supplies  and  nurses,  and  father's  coming  as  their  represen- 
tative —  they  want  to  know  if  the  government  thinks  well 
of  the  plan.  He's  going  to  interview  the  President  —  and 
he  says  he'll  take  us  along,  if  he  can!  " 


342  MANASSAS 

"I've  seen  him  once  already,"  said  Allan,  and  Jack 
listened  with  wondering  interest  while  the  other  told  o£ 
the  experience  of  the  " Frontier  Guards." 

The  men  of  the  company  now  came  crowding  around 
Allan  to  welcome  him,  hearing  that  he  had  become  one 
of  them.  They  were  an  unusual  aggregation  of  soldiers, 
the  "  Cambridge  Tigers " ;  there  were  a  few  mechanics 
and  clerks  among  them,  of  course,  but  for  the  most  part 
they  represented  the  wealth  and  culture,  the  bankers  and 
business-men  and  professors,  of  the  college  town.  There 
were  a  score  or  so  of  the  older  Harvard  men  among  them, 
and  men  from  other  colleges  besides  ;  also  there  were 
half  a  dozen  or  more  of  the  undergraduates,  heart-broken 
at  having  been  torn  away  out  of  the  very  jaws  of  exami- 
nations. Besides  these,  Allan  found  to  his  amusement  a 
number  of  old  acquaintances,  men  who  had  joined  upon 
the  instant  —  had  literally  been  taken  up  by  the  company 
on  the  run  :  there  was,  still  in  his  uniform,  the  postman 
who  in  Allan's  student  days  had  brought  him  his  mail ; 
likewise  the  waiter  who  had  served  him  at  table,  and  the 
clerk  who  had  sold  him  his  collars  and  neckties  in  one  of 
the  haberdashery  shops  on  Harvard  Square  —  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  black-eyed  Italian  youth  who  had  kept  the 
fruit-stand  on  the  corner. 

Allan's  blithesome  cousin  looked  very  handsome  in  his 
brand-new  uniform,  with  his  silver-mounted  sword  at  his 
side  ;  he  was  altogether  beside  himself  with  eagerness  and 
excitement,  and  he  gave  his  commands  with  the  air  of  a 
veteran  of  the  Peninsula.  There  had  been  no  time  to  ask 
questions  —  the  companies  and  regiments  had  to  be  ac- 
cepted with  such  officers  as  they  had  ;  and  so  Jack  was  to 
be  a  lieutenant,  with  a  commission  from  Washington  ! 
Now  and  then  his  enthusiasm  would  bubble  over,  and  he 
would  cut  capers  and  sing  a  snatch  of  a  song  — 

"  Oh,  will  ye  go  to  Flanders,  my  Mally,  O  ? 
You  shall  see  the  bullets  fly, 
And  the  soldiers  how  they  die  !  " 

—  and  then  suddenly  he  would  bring  his  heels  together 


THE   STORM  343 

with  a  thump  and  stand  still,  recollecting  the  proprieties 
of  his  position. 

They  soon  heard  the  words  of  command,  and  the  com- 
panies began  to  form  and  to  file  out.  The  Massachusetts 
men  were  to  bring  up  the  rear,  and  so  they  waited,  watch- 
ing the  others  donning  their  overcoats  and  slinging  their 
knapsacks,  and  lowering  the  two  howitzers  of  the  regiment 
by  the  rear  stairway.  As  the  first  of  the  troops  appeared 
outside  there  came  a  roar  from  the  crowd,  rolling  in  like 
a  mighty  wave.  The  listeners  gazed  at  each  other,  and 
their  eyes  danced. 

The  Armory  emptied  itself  rapidly.  Allan's  overcoat 
was  hot  and  heavy,  and  it  flapped  strangely  about  his 
ankles,  and  the  load  they  put  on  his  back  made  him  feel 
as  if  each  moment  he  must  be  pulled  over  backwards.  But 
then  suddenly  he  forgot  all  such  things,  as  they  started 
and  passed  through  the  gateway  arch. 

It  was  like  coming  all  at  once  into  sight  and  sound  of  a 
tempest-beaten  ocean  —  the  roar  of  this  mighty  throng 
smote  into  one's  face  like  a  blinding  gale  of  wind.  You 
caught  one  swift  glance  from  the  steps  —  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach  there  were  black  masses  of  people,  waving 
handkerchiefs  and  hats  and  flags,  cheering  and  yelling 
like  mad.  Where  the  troops  were  forming  on  the  street, 
the  police  had  tried  to  hold  the  crowd  back ;  but  mothers 
and  sisters  and  sweethearts  had  broken  through  in  spite 
of  all,  and  every  other  man  had  a  pair  of  arms  about  his 
neck,  and  a  sobbing  face  upon  his  shoulder.  Most  of  the 
volunteers  were  white  about  the  lips,  but  they  pressed 
them  together  tightly,  trying  hard  to  do  the  thing  prop- 
erly, and  without  a  fuss.  Here  and  there  officers  were 
running  about,  commanding,  exhorting  —  through  a  scene 
of  confusion  like  this  Allan  and  his  company  struggled  all 
the  way  to  the  rear  of  the  march.  There  were  but  few 
friends  to  see  the  Bostonians  off,  but  the  crowd  did  its 
best  to  play  the  part  —  men  slapped  them  on  the  back  as 
they  passed  and  shouted  encouragements,  women  waved 
handkerchiefs  to  them,  and  threw  them  flowers.  The 
Seventh  was  the  corps  d' elite  of  New  York,  and  even  of 


344  MANASSAS 

the  country  ;  its  members  came  from  the  wealth  and 
fashion  of  the  metropolis,  and  their  friends  were  here  to 
see  them  go.  Flowers  and  fruit  and  sandwiches,  bonbons 
and  boxes  of  candy,  cigars  and  pipes  were  pressed  into  their 
hands  —  a  fellow  from  the  Bowery  offered  his  bulldog, 
all  he  had,  and  there  was  a  soldier  who  had  a  purse  thrust 
upon  him  and  afterwards  found  ten  five-dollar  gold  pieces 
in  it.  —  Then  suddenly  past  the  long  line  there  struggled  a 
group  of  policemen,  driving  back  the  throng  ;  and  far 
down  the  street  they  heard  the  strains  of  the  band,  and 
the  quick  commands  of  the  officers.  The  men  tore  them- 
selves free ;  there  were  last  frantic  partings,  tears  and  sob- 
bing—  and  the  crowd  scattered  here  and  there,  and  line 
by  line  the  regiment  swung  into  column,  slowly  at  first, 
then  faster  and  f ast.er,  then  in  full  swing.  They  were  off  ! 

And  again  the  roar  of  the  throng  surged  up.  It  fairly 
lifted  them  in  its  arms,  and  swept  them  on.  Louder  and 
louder  it  rose,  continuous,  heaven-ascending  ;  it  rolled  on 
ahead,  it  turned  and  came  back  again,  it  ran  like  the 
thunder  upon  the  mountain  tops.  They  strained  their 
eyes  ahead  —  there  seemed  no  end  to  the  crowd  ;  when 
they  turned  at  Jones  Street  it  was  there,  and  when  they 
swung  into  Broadway  —  ah  God,  what  a  sight  was  Broad- 
way !  Flags,  flags,  flags  !  There  were  flags  upon  the 
housetops,  flags  in  the  steeples,  flags  in  the  windows,  flags 
in  people's  hands  —  like  the  leaves  in  the  forest  were  the 
flags  !  There  were  streamers  across  the  street,  bunting 
in  the  windows  —  the  mighty  thoroughfare  was  a  canyon 
whose  walls  were  flags. 

And  the  people  !  They  packed  the  sidewalks  to  the 
gutters  and  beyond ;  they  filled  the  doorways,  they 
swarmed  at  every  window  in  tiers  upon  tiers,  they  peered 
down  from  the  roofs.  At  every  side  street  they  filled  the 
block,  standing  upon  boxes,  upon  ladders,  upon  wagons. 
They  clung  to  cornices,  to  the  tops  of  doorways,  balconies, 
lamp-posts,  awnings,  fences  — wherever  a  man  could  cling, 
there  was  a  man.  They  fell  in  with  the  march,  crowd- 
ing between  the  ranks,  laughing,  shouting,  singing  ;  they 


THE   STORM  345 

slapped  the  soldiers  on  the  back  as  they  passed,  they 
surged  in  behind  the  procession,  sweeping  on  with  it  like 
an  avalanche.  They  showered  presents  upon  it,  they  flung 
down  all  that  they  owned,  all  that  they  could  lay  their 
hands  upon  —  money  and  pocket-books,  combs,  slippers, 
gloves.  The  eye  ran  on  ahead,  down  a  mighty  river  of 
human  hands  and  faces,  tossing  and  quivering,  leaping 
like  the  waves  of  the  sea  ;  you  looked  nearer  —  it  was 
swirling,  seething,  swaying  before  you.  Faces  started  out 
of  it,  faces  mad  with  excitement;  voices  screamed  from 
it,  hands  reached  out  from  it,  handkerchiefs  and  flags 
danced  and  shimmered  above  it,  blinding  the  eye  that 
watched  them,  making  the  senses  reel.  Deafening,  thun- 
derous, paralyzing  was  the  din  of  it.  At  the  corners  of 
the  streets  firemen  had  dragged  up  their  engines  and  were 
jangling  the  bells  —  one  saw  them  leaping  back  and  forth, 
but  one  heard  not  a  sound  of  them.  In  the  church  steeples 
also  the  bells  were  tolling,  whistles  and  horns  were  blow- 
ing —  one  heard  nothing  at  all  save  this  roar  from  ten 
thousand  human  throats,  beating  in  the  ears,  a  living, 
leaping  sound,  dazzling,  burning  like  a  blast  of  fire.  Men 
had  never  heard  anything  like  it,  men  had  never  dreamed 
anything  like  it ;  the  crash  of  the  thunder  was  not  like 
it,  the  howling  of  the  tempest,  the  raging  of  the  sea  was 
not  like  it.  They  walked  through  it,  they  knew  not  how, 
transported,  lifted  away  by  it,  staggering,  and  dazed.  So 
much  had  they  seen  of  the  task  to  be  done  — but  now  for 
the  first  time  they  saw  the  power  that  was  to  do  it  !  Now 
for  the  first  time  they  saw  the  nation  —  understood  what 
the  nation  was  !  Here  was  the  heart  of  it  throbbing  ; 
here  was  the  voice  of  it  calling,  here  was  the  power 
of  it  flung  forth  at  last  !  A  land  of  mighty  rivers  and 
towering  hills,  of  teeming  cities  —  a  land  of  free  men! 
Somewhere  in  the  countless  thousands  people  were  sing- 
ing of  it :  — 

"  Land  where  my  fathers  died, 
Land  of  the  pilgrim's  pride, 
From  every  mountain  side 
Let  Freedom  ring !  " 


346  MANASSAS 

In  the  darkest  hour,  when  all  men  despaired  for  it,  it 
had  arisen,  it  had  rent  its  bonds  !  It  was  striding  forth 
in  all  its  majesty,  colossal,  cloud-compelling  !  And  now 
was  the  hour  of  victory,  the  hour  of  salvation  !  The 
mists  were  scattered,  the  sun  had  broken  through  ;  and 
the  phantoms  of  the  night  that  had  frozen  men  with  fear 
—  how  they  fled  from  the  glory  of  this  dawn  ! 

There  was  no  man  there  so  dull  but  felt  his  heart 
leaping,  but  was  startled  out  of  himself,  shaken  with 
emotions  of  which  he  had  never  dreamed.  They  were 
going  to  war  !  No  holiday  parade  was  this,  —  they  were 
going  to  war  !  Within  a  few  hours  the  regiment  would 
be  in  the  streets  of  Baltimore,  with  the  furies  raging 
about  it,  with  death  stalking  through  its  ranks.  And 
these  men  were  young,  and  life  was  fair ;  they  had 
pleasures  and  hopes  and  loves  —  it  had  been  hard  to 
come.  But  here,  throbbing  with  the  mighty  pulse 
of  the  millions,  how  easy  it  suddenly  seemed  !  Like  a 
column  of  fire  ascending  was  the  passion  of  that  hour, 
sweeping  all  things  in  its  reach.  With  what  fervor  they 
rushed  to  lay  their  hearts  upon  her  altar,  to  pledge  their 
vows  to  her  —  their  country  !  What  consecrations  shook 
them,  what  visions  thrilled  them  !  Out  of  the  deeps,  up- 
heaved and  shaking  —  trembling,  burning  with  rapture, 
they  saw  her  coining  in  the  storm  ;  through  the  misty 
portals  of  the  spirit  she  broke,  radiant,  shimmering, 
terribly  fair.  All  their  lives  she  had  haunted  them  —  she 
had  whispered  to  them  in  the  twilight,  she  had  sung  to 
them  in  the  morning  —  and  now  in  full  glory  she  came 
revealed.  She  sped  above  them  on  rushing  pinions,  she 
touched  them  with  her  robes  of  fire.  She  cried  aloud  in 
trumpet-tones  ;  she  stretched  out  her  arms  and  the  multi- 
tude quivered,  she  waved  her  sword  and  the  lightnings 
flew.  The  ground  rocked  and  thundered  as  she  went,  the 
sky  bent  and  cracked  above  her,  and  down  the  tempest- 
trodden  pathway  she  whirled  them  on  to  war  ! 

—  There  was  no  end  to  it,  no  end  to  it !  There  was  a 
mile,  two  miles,  and  no  end  —  the  houses  reeled  and 


THE  STORM  347 

danced  before  their  eyes,  and  they  walked  upon  the  air  — 
they  had  lost  all  sense  of  walking.  Their  hands  were 
numb,  and  strange  tinglings  shot  down  their  arms. 
There  was  a  fire  within  them,  the  pounding  of  a  hammer 
in  their  brains.  They  talked  aloud  as  they  went  on, 
some  of  them  sobbed ;  strange  gasps  rose  in  them  like 
bubbles  of  water,  breaking  in  nervous  laughter.  They 
marched  with  heads  thrown  back,  breathing  hard  —  it  was 
too  much  for  men  to  bear,  they  were  not  made  for  this. 
It  was  as  if  a  mighty  hand  had  seized  them  ;  it  shook  them, 
careless  of  the  consequences,  like  a  musician  breaking  his 
instrument  in  his  fervor.  And  yet  they  clung  to  it;  for 
men  have  pined  to  die  in  the  arms  of  that  ecstasy,  which 
comes  so  hardly.  This  is  the  curse  that  has  been  laid 
upon  us,  who  can  be  happy  only  in  the  midst  of  pain. 

At  last  they  turned  a  corner.  Here  again  was  a 
mist  of  banners,  a  blur  of  faces,  a  whirlwind  of  cheers  to 
sweep  them  on.  The  street  was  arched  like  a  forest  aisle 
with  bunting,  and  far  down  it  was  a  ferry-boat,  and  docks, 
sheds,  wagons,  black  with  humanity.  Whistles  were 
blowing  in  the  harbor,  bells  were  ringing  —  the  end  was 
here.  And  the  men  staggered  on,  the  mob  surging  in, 
overwhelming  them ;  the  regiment  was  swallowed  up,  the 
ranks  broken,  the  march  lost.  Each  one  fought  his  way 
through  as  he  could,  the  crowd  roaring  about  them, 
shouting,  singing,  catching  them  by  the  waists  and  rush- 
ing them  along,  lifting  them  upon  their  shoulders  and 
carrying  them.  And  when  at  last  they  were  all  on  board 
and  the  crowd  forced  back  and  the  ferry-boat  had  swung 
out  into  the  river,  the  silence  was  a  kind  of  pain. 

Some  of  them,  having  been  frightened,  sat  apart ; 
Allan's  forehead  was  clutched  in  his  hands,  and  his  face 
was  hot.  He  sat  very  still,  while  the  thing  died  away, 
leaving  him  weak.  Then  suddenly  he  heard  a  voice  be- 
side him,  saying,  "  You  have  a  lot  of  work  to  do,  comrade, 
before  the  end." 

He  looked  up,  startled,  a  little  dazed.  "  Who  are 
you  ?  "  he  asked. 


348  MANASSAS 

"I  am  the  sergeant  of  your  company,"  said  the  man, 
quietly.  (He  spoke  with  a  slight  German  accent.) 
"  When  you  have  had  some  experience,  you  know,  you 
will  not  let  yourself  go  like  that — one  needs  all  his  strength 
for  the  fighting." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  "  asked  Allan,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"I  have  been  through  a  war,"  said  the  sergeant. 


BOOK  V 

THE  BATTLE 


23 


CHAPTER  I 

IN  Jersey  City  there  were  twenty  thousand  people  to 
greet  them  ;  the  depot  was  packed  solid,  and  a  platoon  of 
police  had  to  clear  the  way  with  clubs.  And  when  at  last 
they  had  started,  they  found  a  throng  all  along  the  track, 
continuing  even  after  they  left  the  town.  There  was 
nowhere  a  car's  length  without  a  person,  —  and  this  was 
true  all  the  way  to  Philadelphia.  There  were  thousands 
of  people  at  every  stop,  and  enough  refreshments  offered 
them  for  a  supper  once  an  hour.  The  cheering  seemed 
never  to  cease  —  even  after  midnight  they  could  not  have 
slept  had  they  wanted  to.  At  a  station  they  passed  at 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning  they  found  a  group  of  old 
ladies  waiting  for  them  with  pails  of  ice-water ;  and 
when  they  came  into  Philadelphia  toward  morning,  there 
was  a  crowd  there,  and  a  banquet,  disguised  as  a  breakfast, 
prepared  for  them  at  all  the  hotels. 

Here  it  transpired  that  their  desire  to  march  through 
Baltimore  was  not  to  be  gratified.  Bridges  were  down 
and  the  telegraph  wires  cut,  and,  moreover,  the  spineless 
administration  had  given  way  before  the  frantic  demands 
of  the  authorities  of  the  city,  and  had  promised  that  no 
more  troops  should  come  through  it !  At  that  hour  Balti- 
more was  in  the  hands  of  a  mob,  which  had  sacked  the 
gun  shops  and  the  liquor  stores  ;  the  streets  were  barri- 
caded and  guarded  by  artillery  and  cavalry,  and  companies 
of  secessionists  were  hurrying  in  from  the  neighborhood. 
The  wildest  rumors  as  to  the  fate  of  Washington  prevailed. 

Here  the  Massachusetts  company  joined  the  regiment  to 
which  it  was  ordered,  and  came  under  the  command  of  its 
officer,  one  Benjamin  Butler ,  destined  to  fame.  General 
Butler  had  been  a  criminal  lawyer  not  of  the  highest 
reputability,  and  a  pro-slavery  Democratic  politician  whose 
boast  it  was  that  he  had  voted  fifty-seven  times  for 

351 


352  MANASSAS 

Jefferson  Davis  in  the  Charleston  convention  the  year  be- 
fore. But  he  had  disapproved  of  secession,  and  when  th& 
call  came  for  four  regiments  from  his  State,  as  a  general 
of  militia  he  had  been  first  to  apply  and  get  command  of 
them.  He  was  cross-eyed  and  coarse  in  appearance,  but 
aggressive  and  determined,  and  with  a  kind  of  humor  of 
his  own.  At  present  he  was  casting  about  him  for  some 
way  of  reaching  Washington,  deciding  finally  to  take  the 
railroad  ferry-boat  at  Havre-de-Grace,  and  from  there 
steam  to  Annapolis.  The  colonel  of  the  Seventh  prefer- 
ring to  sail  directly  from  Philadelphia  to  Washington, 
the  two  regiments  now  parted,  the  Eighth  Massachusetts 
leaving  the  city  at  eleven  in  the  morning. 

Rumor  had  it  that  the  ferry-boat  was  in  the  hands  of 
the  secessionists,  and  so  the  regiment  prepared  for  a  fight, 
the  general  coming  through  the  train  and  giving  elaborate 
directions  as  to  their  action.  The  fight  did  not  come  off, 
but  the  directions  were  enough  to  frighten  one  man  so 
that  he  leaped  from  the  moving  train  and  dashed  into  the 
woods,  to  the  intense  amusement  of  his  comrades.  Late 
in  the  afternoon  they  boarded  the  huge  ferry-boat  Mary- 
land, and  steamed  down  the  Susquehanna.  While  they 
were  making  the  trip,  in  New  York  all  business  was  at  a 
standstill,  and  a  mob  of  half  a  million  people  were  thronged 
in  Union  Square,  listening  to  patriotic  speeches  from  men 
of  all  parties. 

They  reached  Annapolis  at  midnight,  finding  the  town 
awake,  with  lights  flashing  here  and  there,  and  signal 
rockets  in  the  sky.  This  checked  the  ardent  general's 
determination  to  land,  and  he  cast  anchor.  Before  long 
an  officer  of  the  Naval  Academy  came  on  board  to  say 
that  the  governor  of  the  State  forbade  the  troops  to  land. 
It  transpired  that  the  commandant  of  the  place  was  a 
loyal  man,  and  was  in  immediate  fear  of  an  attack.  The 
frigate  Constitution,  "  Old  Ironsides,"  now  a  school-ship, 
was  moored  in  front  of  the  town,  and  the  militia  of  the 
country  had  been  drilling  in  full  sight  of  her  daily.  The 
naval  officer  furthermore  declared  that  the  railroad  to 
Washington  had  been  destroyed,  and  the  cars  removed, 


THE   BATTLE  353 

and  that  large  parties  of  the  secessionists  were  gathered 
in  the  interior. 

Time  was  precious,  but  the  general  hesitated  ;  he  fell 
to  parleying  with  the  mayor  of  Annapolis  and  the  gov- 
ernor of  the  State,  both  of  whom  were  on  hand,  and 
frantic  at  the  idea  of  "Northern  troops"  invading  the 
soil  of  Maryland.  These  gentlemen  professed  to  be  loyal, 
in  spite  of  their  belief  in  "  states'  rights "  ;  the  latter  of 
them  was  just  then  keeping  the  wires  hot  with  his  mes- 
sages to  Washington,  imploring  the  Secretary  of  State  to 
offer  a  truce,  "  so  that  the  effusion  of  blood  might  be  pre- 
vented." He  went  on  respectfully  to  offer  his  solution  of 
the  difficulty — that  the  British  Ambassador,  Lord  Lyons, 
"  be  requested  to  act  as  mediator  between  the  contending 
parties  of  our  country." 

The  Constitution  was  stuck  fast  upon  a  mud-bank,  and 
in  the  morning  the  ferry-boat  passed  the  time  trying  to 
drag  her  off.  In  this  it  was  finally  successful,  where- 
upon the  general  issued  a  stirring  manifesto  to  the 
regiment.  "  This  is  a  sufficient  triumph  of  right,"  he 
declared,  "a  sufficient  triumph  for  us,"  and  went  on  to 
add  that  by  this  the  blood  of  their  friends  shed  by  the 
Baltimore  mob  was  "avenged."  The  rejoicing  over  the 
achievement  was,  however,  somewhat  damped  by  the  dis- 
covery that  the  Maryland  herself  had  run  on  a  mud-bank, 
and  that  the  regiment  was  therefore  helpless. 

Here  it  spent  the  day  and  the  night ;  it  had  run  short 
of  water  and  provisions  —  there  was  only  enough  for  "a 
biscuit  and  an  inch  of  salt  pork  "  per  man.  They  were  so 
crowded  on  board  that  there  was  scarcely  room  to  move, 
and  for  beds  they  had  nothing  more  attractive  than  coal- 
bags.  Exposed  as  they  were  to  a  broiling  sun,  the  young  gen- 
tlemen of  Cambridge  began  to  see  war  as  a  serious  matter. 

The  long  wait  passed,  however,  and  in  the  morning 
there  appeared  up  the  bay  the  steamer  bearing  the 
Seventh,  which  had  been  out  in  the  ocean  and  around 
Cape  Charles.  More  time  was  now  wasted  trying  to 
float  the  Maryland;  but  finally,  in  the  afternoon,  the 
Seventh  was  landed  at  the  Naval  Academy  dock,  and 

2A 


354  MANASSAS 

then  the  Massachusetts  men  were  transferred  to  the 
steamer  and  landed  also.  It  was  said  that  four  regiments 
of  the  enemy  were  intrenched  at  Annapolis  Junction,  and 
it  was  believed  by  nearly  all  at  the  outset  that,  not  two- 
thirds  of  those  who  marched  would  ever  reach  Washington 
alive.  At  this  time  the  North  was  in  a  frenzy,  owing  to 
news  having  come  that  the  Seventh  had  been  surrounded 
by  the  "  plug-uglies "  and  cut  to  pieces  ;  this  was  also 
widely  published  and  believed  in  the  South. 

While  the  hours  slipped  by,  and  the  officers  wondered 
and  waited  for  reinforcements,  the  capital  was  in  deadly 
peril.  On  Tuesday  the  Massachusetts  men,  having  deter- 
mined to  march  by  the  railroad,  seized  the  depot.  In  one 
of  the  sheds  they  found  an  old,  rusty  engine.  "  Can  any 
one  repair  it  ?  "  asked  the  general.  "  I  can,"  answered 
a  private  —  "I  made  it  !  "  In  truth  there  was  scarcely  a 
trade  which  was  not  represented  in  that  regiment  —  one 
of  the  officers  of  the  Seventh  has  recorded  his  opinion  that 
if  the  orders  had  been  "  Poets  to  the  front !  "  "  Painters 
present  arms  !  "  "  Sculptors  charge  bayonets  !  "  a  baker's 
dozen  out  of  every  company  would  have  responded. 

The  rails  of  the  road,  which  had  been  dragged  here  and 
there  and  hidden,  were  hunted  out  and  the  track  laid; 
provisions  and  stores  were  gotten  together,  and  the  Seventh 
having  meanwhile  concluded  to  join,  the  two  regiments 
made  ready,  and  on  the  morrow  at  daybreak  set  out  to 
march.  Four  more  steamers  had  arrived  in  the  night, 
with  reinforcements  from  the  North. 

It  was  a  beautiful  spring  day,  and  the  campaign  bade  fair 
to  be  a  picnic  excursion;  of  the  much-talked-of  enemies 
there  was  no  sign,  and  the  skirmishers  who  were  sent  out 
in  front  to  look  for  them  soon  betook  themselves  to  the 
more  profitable  task  of  looking  for  the  hidden  rails.  Fol- 
lowing them  came  two  companies  of  the  New  Englanders, 
repairing  the  track,  and  then  the  little  engine,  pushing 
ahead  of  it  two  platform  cars,  with  the  howitzers  of  the 
Seventh,  and  pulling  behind  it  two  more  cars,  loaded  with 
supplies  and  baggage. 


THE  BATTLE  355 

Before  long  they  came  out  into  the  bare  and  sandy 
"  tobacco  country,"  where  the  sun  beat  down  upon  them, 
and  where  they  found  the  march  not  so  pleasant.  Repair- 
ing the  track  and  building  bridges  as  they  went,  they  could 
only  make  one  mile  an  hour,  however,  and  there  was  plenty 
of  time  for  the  weary  to  rest.  The  men  had  been  obliged 
to  come  without  rations,  and  so  there  was  foraging  among 
the  neighboring  farmhouses,  whose  inhabitants  had  for  the 
most  part  fled  for  their  lives. 

Night  came  on  and  found  them  only  halfway  to  An- 
napolis Junction;  there  was  a  full  moon,  however,  and  so 
they  kept  on,  repairing  the  track  as  before,  the  men  who 
were  not  engaged  in  this  work  falling  down  at  each  halt 
and  sleeping  as  they  could,  many  of  them  three-fourths 
asleep  even  while  they  marched.  Those  who  gave  out 
were  taken  on  the  cars,  but  the  rest  stuck  to  it,  and  at 
daybreak  on  the  following  morning  they  were  in  sight  of 
the  Junction,  which  they  approached  in  battle  array,  only 
to  find  it  deserted.  The  road  had  not  even  been  disturbed, 
and  before  long  appeared  a  train  from  Washington,  sent 
out  to  meet  them.  It  lacked  but  a  few  hours  of  a  week 
since  Allan  had  left  Washington,  and  in  that  time  no  troops 
but  the  Sixth  Massachusetts  had  reached  the  city.  When, 
therefore,  the  triumphant  Seventh  swung  into  Pennsyl- 
vania Avenue  that  afternoon,  with  music  sounding  and 
banners  waving,  there  was  a  scene  almost  as  stirring  as  the 
one  of  the  Broadway  march. 

The  Eighth  remained  behind  to  guard  the  junction,  and 
to  open  the  way  for  the  army  that  was  coming.  That 
night  they  slept  beneath  the  stars,  and  in  the  early  evening 
when  the  men  were  lounging  about  the  camp-fires,  singing, 
Allan  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  German  sergeant  who 
had  spoken  to  him  on  the  way  from  Jersey  City.  He  saw 
him  sitting  apart  and  puffing  at  a  short  pipe,  and  he  went 
over  and  stood  by  him.  "  How  do  you  do  ?  "  he  said. 

The  sergeant  looked  up.  "  Oh,  hello  !  "  said  he.  "  Sit 
down,  won't  you  ?  " 

He  was  a  man  of  about  thirty  ;  short,  but  of  powerful 


356  MANASSAS 

build.  He  had  light,  wavy  hair  and  clear  blue  eyes  that 
he  fixed  on  one  when  he  spoke.  Allan  had  noticed  him 
now  and  then  —  he  was  very  quiet  in  his  ways,  and  no 
one  in  the  company  seemed  to  know  him  very  well.  His 
name  was  Schlemmer,  Jack  had  said,  and  he  lived  in 
Boston. 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me  about  that  war,"  Allan  remarked. 
"  Were  you  in  the  German  army  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other  ;  "  but  I  ran  away  from  it  —  it  is 
not  so  that  I  have  fought.  I  am  a  socialist,  and  I  fight 
for  freedom." 

"  Where  ?  "  Allan  asked. 

"  In  many  places  I  have  helped,"  said  the  other  — 
u  wherever  there  was  fighting,  in  '48  and  '49.  I  was  in 
Poland,  and  then  in  Saxony.  I  was  in  the  street-fighting 
in  Dresden,  when  we  tried  "to  overthrow  the  monarchy. 
I  was  on  the  barricades  —  you  have  heard  of  all  that, 
perhaps  ?  " 

"  I  have  read  of  it,"  Allan  said. 

"  I  was  wounded  there,"  said  the  sergeant,  "  and  I  was 
nearly  caught.  I  escaped  ;  but  there  were  many  of  us 
caught.  There  was  Bakunin,  the  Russian,  and  him  they 
sentenced  to  be  shot.  You  have  heard  of  Bakunin  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply. 

"  And  there  was  Klingel  and  me,  and  Wagner  —  you 
have,  perhaps,  heard  of  Wagner  —  Richard  Wagner  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Allan. 

"  He  is  a  musician,"  said  Sergeant  Schlemmer.  "  You 
will  hear  of  him  some  day ;  they  laugh  at  him  now,  but 
they  will  not  always.  He  too  is  a  socialist,  but  they  have 
pardoned  him  since,  I  believe.  He  is  a  man  of  genius,  and 
they  had  to  pardon  him ;  but  me  —  they  would  not  forgive 
me.  I  was  in  prison  a  month  in  Berlin,  and  then  I  got 
away  again.  I  came  to  England." 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  this  country?"  Allan 
asked. 

"  Eight  years  I  have  been  here,"  said  Sergeant  Schlem- 
mer. "When  I  was  married,  I  came." 

"  Oh,"  said  Allan ;  "  then  you  have  a  family?  " 


THE   BATTLE  357 

"  I  have  three  children,"  the  man  replied. 

"But  how  can  you  leave  them  to  go  to  war?  —  What 
will  they  do?" 

"  They  have  a  little,"  he  said  —  "  they  will  get  along. 
Your  people  will  help  them,  perhaps,  and  my  comrades 
have  promised." 

"And  you  like  this  country  well  enough  to  fight  for 
it  ?  "  Allan  inquired. 

"All  the  world  is  the  socialist's  country,"  the  man 
answered.  "When  we  fight  for  freedom,  it  does  not 
matter  to  us  where  we  fight." 

"  You  have  always  lived  in  Boston?  " 

"  Two  years  I  have  been  in  Boston,"  said  the  sergeant 
—  "before  that  I  was  in  Hartford.  I  teach  music,  you 
know  —  I  play  the  piano." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Allan,  in  surprise ;  and  then  he  added,  with 
a  slight  smile,  "perhaps  you  would  rather  listen  to  the 
music  now  than  talk  to  me." 

"  I  do  not  teach  such  music,"  said  the  sergeant,  imme- 
diately ;  and  he  added,  "  Herr  Gott !  " 

The  other  laughed ;  he  looked  at  the  speaker,  who  sat 
with  his  shoulders  drawn  together  and  his  feet  against  a 
tree.  "  There  is  no  place  in  particular  for  me  to  go,"  he 
said,  with  a  shrug  —  "and  then,  I  have  my  pipe." 

There  was  a  silence ;  the  speaker  puffed  on  stolidly, 
whilst  the  enthusiastic  militiamen  continued  to  shout, 
"  We'll  meet  you  on  Canaan's  happy  shore ! "  Pretty 
soon  the  German  observed,  "You  do  not  smoke?" 

"  No,"  Allan  answered. 

"  You  must,"  said  the  other. 

"Must?     Why?" 

"You  are  going  campaigning,"  replied  the  German. 
"  You  must  have  something  to  do.  You  don't  want  to 
die  of  it." 

Allan  said  nothing,  but  waited  while  the  other  puffed 
again.  He  was  getting  used  to  his  intermittent  style  of 
conversation.  "  I  have  watched  you, "  the  man  began  again, 
finally.  "  You  are  nervous  ;  you  are  full  of  excitements. 
You  must  always  have  something  to  do.  You  won't  last.'' 


358  MANASSAS 

Again  Allan  said  nothing.  "  A  soldier  had  to  learn  to 
wait,"  the  other  continued  ;  "  he  has  to  wait  months,  and 
ask  no  questions.  He  mustn't  care.  That's  why  they  have 
to  drill  them  so  much.  They  have  to  be  wooden." 

Allan  laughed  uncomfortably  ;  then,  his  eye  roaming 
through  the  camp,  he  replied :  "  I  am  afraid  a  good  many 
of  us  won't  fill  your  requirements.  Perhaps  they  are  too 
good  to  be  made  into  soldiers." 

"  All  men  are  too  good  to  be  made  into  soldiers,"  said 
the  sergeant,  in  a  low  voice. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  line  from  Annapolis  was  soon  repaired,  and  it 
became  a  scene  of  busy  activity,  thousands  of  troops 
arriving  every  day.  Before  long  there  came  the  Fifth 
Massachusetts,  and  then  the  "  Cambridge  Tigers  "  joined 
it  and  went  up  to  Washington.  They  marched  past  the 
White  House,  and  Allan  saw  the  tall,  black-clad  figure  of 
the  President  once  more,  as  he  stood  in  the  doorway  to 
see  them.  The  crowd  of  civilians  had  now  fled  the  city, 
going  North  or  South  according  to  their  tastes,  and 
Washington  was  rapidly  becoming  a  military  encamp- 
ment—  the  march  of  troops  was  heard  all  day  long,  the 
galloping  of  cavalry  and  the  rumbling  of  cannon.  Long 
trains  of  army-wagons  began  to  arrive,  and  fortifications 
to  arise  on  the  hills  about  the  city.  The  Patent  Office 
was  turned  into  a  barracks ;  the  rotunda  and  rooms  of  the 
Capitol  were  rilled  with  troops  —  they  bivouacked  in  the 
chambers  of  the  Senate  and  the  House,  and  the  vaults 
of  the  terrace  in  front  of  the  building  were  turned  into 
storerooms  and  bakeries,  from  which  before  long  there 
came  sixteen  thousand  loaves  of  bread  a  day.  By  the 
first  of  May  there  were  ten  thousand  troops  in  Washington, 
and  as  many  more  in  Annapolis. 

The  "  Frontier  Guards  "  had  been  disbanded,  and  Love- 
joy  came  to  see  Allan  to  bid  him  farewell  before  leaving 
for  Kansas.  They  were  raising  a  "  John  Brown  regiment " 
in  Kansas,  and  Lovejoy  had  been  called  to  take  command 
of  one  of  its  companies.  Men  were  hearing  a  great  deal 
about  old  "  Ossawatomie  Brown "  in  these  days ;  when 
the  country  was  ablaze  with  war  his  deed  wore  a  differ- 
ent aspect  from  the  one  it  had  worn  in  peace.  A  poet 
had  already  seen  his  figure  stalking  over  the  ruins  of 
Sumter ;  and  there  came  a  day  when  one  of  the  new 

359 


360  MANASSAS 

Massachusetts  regiments  swept  into  Pennsylvania  Ave- 
nue, singing  a  strange,  wild  marching-song  to  a  tune 
called  the  "  Hallelujah  Chorus,"  an  old  camp-meeting 
melody  that  Allan  had  heard  many,  many  years  before. 
The  song  spread  like  wildfire  in  the  camps  at  Washing- 
ton, and  all  over  the  country  the  armies  shook  with  it  as 
they  poured  southward :  — 

"  Old  John  Brown  lies  a-mouldering  in  his  grave, 
Old  John  Brown  lies  slumbering  in  his  grave  — 
But  John  Brown's  soul  is  marching  with  the  brave, 
His  soul  is  marching  on. 

*  He  shall  file  in  front  when  the  lines  of  battle  form, 
He  shall  face  to  front  when  the  squares  of  battle  form  — 
Time  with  the  column  and  charge  with  the  storm, 
Where  men  are  marching  on. 

**  Ah,  foul  tyrants,  do  you  hear  him  when  he  comes  ? 
Ah,  black  traitors,  do  you  know  him  as  he  comes, 
In  thunder  of  the  cannon,  and  roll  of  the  drums, 
As  we  go  marching  on?  " 

The  Fifth  Massachusetts  was  quartered  in  the  Treasury 
Building,  and  Allan  got  grimly  down  to  the  work  of  being 
made  into  a  soldier.  Every  man  there  was  burning  up 
with  enthusiasm,  but  few  of  them  were  used  to  hard 
manual  labor,  and  they  found  it  a  rough  business.  How 
they  envied  the  gay  young  lieutenant,  who  had  nothing  to 
do  but  display  his  uniform  and  give  orders  and  make  out 
reports  !  Allan,  for  one,  had  not  the  first  idea  of  the  duties 
of  a  private,  and  the  work  kept  him  upon  his  feet  from 
daybreak  until  night ;  there  was  squad-drill  and  company- 
drill,  and  regimental  drill  several  times  a  week,  in  the 
wretched  mud-streets  of  Washington.  There  was  guard- 
mounting,  and  cleaning  of  arms  and  accoutrements,  and 
cooking  of  rations  ;  his  new  uniform  was  heavy  and  hot, 
his  musket  weighed  —  what  it  weighed  he  had  no  means 
of  finding  out,  but  it  seemed  a  hundred  pounds.  His 
arms  ached,  his  feet  and  limbs  ached,  and  still  they  drove 
him  on,  until  sometimes  his  body  trembled,  and  his  head 


THE   BATTLE  361 

swam,  and  every  nerve  screamed  its  protest.  The  rest 
bore  it,  however,  and  he  bore  it  also,  setting  his  teeth 
grimly ;  it  was  the  fault  of  the  worthless  life  he  had  lived, 
he  told  himself  —  how  he  envied  little  Jimmy  Hotchkiss, 
the  classmate  of  long  ago,  who  had  been  walking  twenty 
miles  a  day  since  last  November,  and  now  went  about  his 
duties  whistling  like  a  bobolink !  Sergeant  Schlemmer 
was  Allan's  drill  master,  and,  together  with  half  a  dozen 
other  recruits,  he  put  him  through  atrocious  "  stretching- 
out  "  exercises  until  his  bones  cracked.  Sergeant  Schlem- 
mer was,  alas,  no  longer  a  quiet  and  phlegmatic  dreamer, 
but  a  Prussian  martinet  whom  there  was  no  pleasing,  and 
whose  manners  were  scarcely  to  be  borne.  It  was  well 
enough  to  be  strict,  but  there  was  a  limit  to  all  things ; 
and  because  a  man  happened  to  have  been  bred  a  gentle- 
man was  no  reason  for  supposing  that  he  could  not  obey 
orders  without  being  yelled  at.  Allan  recollected  his 
quiet  prediction  that  he  (Allan)  "  would  not  last " ;  and 
he  found  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  not  making  as 
much  progress  in  the  manual  as  the  black-eyed  Italian 
youth  who  had  sold  oranges  and  bananas  all  his  life.  It 
was  for  the  country,  of  course,  and  it  had  to  be  done. 
At  times  he  found  himself  wondering  if  the  country 
would  ever  appreciate  sufficiently  the  miseries  he  had 
borne  for  her  sake. 

In  Maryland  the  legislature  was  in  session,  strongly 
secession  in  its  sympathies,  but  now  held  in  awe  by  the 
manifestations  of  Union  feeling  about  it ;  in  Baltimore 
the  tide  was  beginning  to  turn  —  the  severing  of  the  rail- 
road and  the  consequent  isolation  of  the  city  were  ruining 
its  business.  The  line  through  Annapolis  was  now  in  full 
operation,  open  to  the  public  as  well  as  to  the  government ; 
and  a  few  days  after  this  Allan  and  Jack  received  a  tele- 
gram from  Professor  Otis,  saying  that  he  was  coming  on  to 
attend  to  his  errand. 

The  following  day,  when  off  duty,  they  went  to  meet 
him  at  the  depot,  as  excited  and  full  of  anticipations  as 
two  schoolboys.  They  dined  at  Willard's,  where  Allan 


362  MANASSAS 

recollected  with  wonder  that  only  a  week  or  two  ago  he 
had  considered  the  fare  atrocious.  How  short  a  while  had 
it  taken  to  change  his  ideas  as  to  that !  Willard's  was 
crowded  with  shoulder-strapped  officers,  who  also  found 
the  government  tables  not  to  their  taste. 

Afterwards  they  made  their  way  over  to  the  White 
House.  In  the  anteroom  they  found  a  crowd  of  people 
of  all  sorts  ;  but  apparently  the  introductions  of  these  were 
from  less  weighty  persons  than  Senator  Sumner,  with  a 
letter  from  whom  Professor  Otis  had  come  armed.  They 
were  soon  shown  into  the  gorgeously  furnished  reception 
room,  where  Allan  had  once  spent  the  night. 

In  the  dim  light  they  saw  the  President  standing  here. 
His  hands  were  clasped  behind  his  back,  and  he  gave 
one  the  feeling  that  he  was  painfully  ill  at  ease ;  when 
he  bowed  it  was  in  a  queer,  jerky  fashion,  as  if  there  were 
but  one  joint  in  his  body,  and  when  he  shook  hands  his 
arm  went  up  and  down  after  the  manner  of  an  automaton 
wound  up.  When  the  two  young  men  had  been  intro- 
duced, he  shook  hands  with  them  also,  and  asked  them  to 
be  seated.  The  little  gilt  chair  creaked  with  the  weight 
of  his  enormous  frame  as  he  set  them  an  example. 

Professor  Otis  stated  his  errand,  and  in  the  meantime 
the  two  others  devoured  Mr.  Lincoln  with  their  eyes  ;  the 
chance  to  meet  him  was  something  of  which  they  had  been 
dreaming  for  a  week,  and  which  had  made  them  great  men 
in  the  regiment. 

The  President  had  crossed  one  of  his  long  legs  over  the 
other,  and  as  his  foot  stuck  out  one  could  not  help  observ- 
ing that  he  had  on  a  pair  of  old,  ragged  slippers,  without 
any  heels  —  and  also  that  he  wore  white  yarn  socks. 
"  Several  suggestions  such  as  you  make,"  he  was  saying, 
"  have  come  to  me  already.  I  have  referred  them  to  the 
War  Department.  I  can  see  no  reason  myself  why  the 
government  should  not  avail  itself  of  every  assistance 
that  may  be  forthcoming.  But  I  will  refer  you  to  Secre- 
tary Cameron,  and  we  will  see  what  he  says." 

Then  Mr.  Lincoln  tapped  a  bell  at  his  side,  and  while 


THE   BATTLE  363 

lie  was  waiting  for  the  response,  dropped  into  general 
conversation.  His  manner  of  constraint  seemed  to  wear 
off  after  a  little  time,  and  the  two  young  men  noticed 
that  his  smile  was  kindly.  "  Two  of  our  deliverers  ?  "  he 
said,  looking  at  their  uniforms ;  and  then,  suddenly,  fixing 
his  glance  upon  Allan,  he  added,  "  Have  I  not  seen  you 
somewhere  before  ?  " 

"Hardly  where  you  would  remember  me,"  Allan  an- 
swered in  surprise. 

"  Ah,  but  I  never  forget  faces  ! "  said  the  President. 
"  I  have  seen  you,  I  know." 

"  I  was  here  with  Lane's  volunteers,"  Allan  replied. 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  said  the  other.  "  I  recollect  noticing 
you."  —  And  then,  as  his  secretary  entered,  he  remarked, 
"  Please  write  a  note  to  Secretary  Cameron,  introducing 
Professor  Otis,  and  asking  him  to  consider  what  he  has  to 
say." 

The  secretary  went  out,  after  handing  the  President  a 
despatch.  The  President  excused  himself  for  a  moment 
while  he  read  it,  and  they  saw  a  frown  gathering  on  his 
face.  "  Dear  me,  dear  me  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  More 
trouble  ! " 

He  looked  up  again,  gazing  ahead  of  him  into  space  for 
some  time,  tapping  the  hand  with  the  paper  nervously 
upon  the  arm  of  his  chair.  "  Here  I  am,"  he  began  sud- 
denly, half  as  if  speaking  to  himself,  —  "  here  I  am  trying 
to  save  the  government  which  the  people  have  intrusted 
to  me ;  and  here  are  men  actively  engaged  in  trying  to 
destroy  it,  making  war  upon  it  day  and  night ;  and  one  of 
my  officers  succeeds  in  detecting  some  of  their  conspira- 
cies, and  arrests  them,  and  every  single  time  it  happens 
some  judge  or  other  steps  forward  with  a  writ  of  habeas 
corpus  and  sets  them  free  !  If  I  object,  they  tell  me  that 
I  have  no  right  to  suspend  the  writ  of  habeas  corpus  — 
that  only  Congress  can  do  it  —  and  that  if  I  do  it  I  am 
violating  the  Constitution  and  the  liberties  of  the  people  ! 
Now  what  in  the  world  am  I  to  do  in  such  a  case  as  that?" 

The  President  seemed  to  be  asking  their  advice,  and 
there  was  a  moment's  awkward  pause.  Jack,  who  had 


364  MANASSAS 

completed  nearly  two  years  in  the  law  school,  now  found 
himself  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  regretting  that  he  had 
not  studied  some,  so  that  his  mind  need  not  have  been  a 
blank  in  such  a  crisis.  Professor  Otis,  whose  department 
was  mathematics,  was  on  the  point  of  attempting  to 
smooth  over  the  difficulty,  when  suddenly  the  President 
began  to  laugh  gleefully.  "  I  heard  such  a  funny  story 
to-day,"  he  said.  "  Wilson  sent  it  to  me  —  do  you  know 
Henry  Wilson,  Professor  Otis  ?  " 

(He  was  referring  to  the  colleague  of  Senator  Sumner  — 
the  "  Natick  Cobbler,"  as  he  was  known  to  the  country.) 
"  I  have  met  him,"  said  the  professor. 

"  Well,  he  sent  me  this  story  by  a  friend,"  went  on  the 
President.  "  It  seems  they've  been  arguing  this  constitu- 
tional question  up  there  in  your  State,  and  the  senator 
said  he  thought  this  story  would  be  of  more  use  to  me 
than  any  opinion  he  had  to  offer.  He  declares  he  sent  the 
friend  to  Washington  especially  to  bring  it,  but  of  course 
that's  only  one  of  his  jokes.  —  It  seems  that  there  was  a 
skipper  of  a  sailing-vessel,  an  Italian "  —  the  President 
called  it  Eye-talian —  "who  had  been  hired  to  take  a  cer- 
tain image  of  the  Holy  Virgin  to  Rome,  to  be  blessed  by 
the  pope  and  then  brought  back  again  to  put  a  stop  to 
some  pestilence  or  other.  This  image  was  especially 
sacred,  and  priests  were  on  board  to  guard  it,  and  the 
skipper  had  been  frightened  half  to  death  with  the  warn- 
ings of  what  would  happen  if  he  did  not  deliver  it  safely. 
Well,  time  went  on,  and  sure  enough,  what  did  he  do  but 
run  the  vessel  on  the  rocks.  When  they  got  off,  they 
found  a  hole  in  her  side,  at  the  water  line.  A  storm 
was  raging,  and  the  water  began  to  rush  in,  and  the  sailors 
rushed  to  the  pumps  ;  but  the  ship  continued  to  fill,  in 
spite  of  all  they  could  do.  All  the  time,  of  course,  the 
priests  were  praying  before  the  image  of  the  Virgin,  im- 
ploring her  to  save  them.  The  harder  they  prayed,  how- 
ever, the  worse  the  storm  grew,  and  the  faster  the  water 
rushed  in,  and  the  lower  the  ship  sank.  They  made  all 
sorts  of  vows,  and  the  captain  made  all  sorts  of  vows,  but 
it  did  no  good  —  the  ship  went  on  settling  and  settling. 


THE  BATTLE  365 

And  at  last,  when  it  seemed  that  they  might  go  down  any 
minute,  the  captain  suddenly  jumped  up  and  began  to 
swear.  He  yelled  for  the  mate,  and  he  yelled  for  the 
sailors  — 4  Yo  ho,  there  !  '  says  he,  '  take  the  Holy  Vir- 
gin below  and  stuff  her  head  in  the  hole  ! ' 

—  And  with  that  Mr.  Lincoln  exploded  suddenly  into  a 
burst  of  laughter;  he  was  completely  doubled  up  with 
it  —  he  wrapped  his  long  arms  about  his  knees  and 
drew  them  up  till  they  touched  his  face.  The  three 
laughed  in  chorus,  of  course,  —  half  because  they  wanted 
to,  and  half  because  they  thought  they  ought  to.  "  The 
Constitution  is  my  Holy  Virgin  ! "  said  Mr.  Lincoln, 
when  he  could  get  his  breath. 

And  then  suddenly,  when  in  the  act  of  saying  something 
more,  he  came  to  a  dead  halt.  The  laugh  vanished  from 
his  face  in  a  flash,  and  an  expression  of  solemnity  replaced 
it  with  a  swiftness  that  was  comical.  A  door  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room  had  opened  all  at  once,  and  two  gentlemen 
were  coming  in.  The  President  rose,  and  putting  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  stood  as  before,  with  his  feet 
braced  apart,  waiting,  submissively,  for  whatever  might 
be  coming. 

Of  the  two  persons  who  had  come  in,  apparently  by  a 
private  entrance,  one  was  small  and  slightly  built,  stoop- 
ing as  he  walked ;  he  was  quick  and  alert  in  manner,  and 
his  head  projected  forward  inquiringly,  an  effect  which 
was  accentuated  by  the  fact  that  it  was  a  very  large  head, 
and  with  a  very  prominent  nose.  Allan  had  seen  him  in 
Washington  eleven  years  ago,  and  knew  him  at  once, 
though  his  hair  had  turned  white  in  the  meantime.  It 
was  Secretary  Seward. 

The  other  gentleman  was  very  grave  and  stately  in  his 
presence.  He  was  bald,  and  had  a  slight  fringe  of  white 
whiskers  under  his  chin.  He  was  faultlessly  dressed,  and 
one  had  only  to  look  at  him  to  see  that  he  was  a  man 
of  high  breeding  —  his  manner  was  that  of  an  English 
nobleman.  Allan  had  seen  him  somewhere,  he  was  sure, 
but  he  could  not  place  him  until  he  heard  the  Secretary 

24 


366  MANASSAS 

introduce  him.  Then  he  recollected  —  it  was  Mr.  Adams, 
the  new  minister  to  England,  a  grandson  of  John  Adams, 
and  son  of  John  Quincy  Adams.  He  bowed  reservedly 
when  introduced,  and  was  taken  by  surprise  when  the 
President  put  out  his  hand ;  he  corrected  himself  so 
quickly,  however,  that  only  a  close  observer  could  have 
detected  his  surprise,  and  the  President  repeated  his  queer 
pumping  motion  once  more,  and  gave  two  or  three  more 
of  his  queer  jerky  bows.  He  expressed  his  great  pleasure 
at  meeting  Mr.  Adams,  and  then  suddenly  his  private 
secretary  came  in  with  the  note  for  Professor  Otis. 

The  three,  who  had  risen,  started  to  take  their  de- 
parture ;  but  the  President  stopped  them  with  a  wave  of 
his  hand.  "  Don't  go,  don't  go,"  he  said,  cordially.  "  Sit 
down  —  we  are  all  friends  here.  Mr.  Adams,  Professor 
Otis,  of  Harvard  College." 

"  I  have  already  the  pleasure  of  knowing  Professor 
Otis,"  said  Mr.  Adams. 

"  And  Mr.  Jack  Otis  —  one  of  our  defenders.  And  Mr. 
Montague." 

Mr.  Adams  bowed  again,  and  the  party  sat  down  once 
more.  The  President  slid  down  in  his  chair  until  his 
collar  rested  on  the  back  of  it,  and  crossed  his  enormous 
legs,  so  that  the  worn  slippers  and  the  white  yarn  socks 
were  again  the  most  conspicuous  objects  in  view.  Before 
long,  however,  perhaps  after  catching  a  glimpse  of  the 
Secretary  of  State,  who  sat  very  stiff  and  solemn,  he 
began  anxiously  getting  erect  again,  inch  by  inch,  so  that 
no  one  might  notice  it  —  in  the  meantime  not  taking  his 
eyes  off  Mr.  Adams,  who  had  begun  a  little  speech. 

The  new  minister  was  on  the  point  of  sailing  for  Eng- 
land, it  seemed,  and  had  come  to  Washington  to  receive 
his  instructions.  He  was  very  much  gratified  indeed  at 
the  mark  of  confidence  which  was  implied  by  his  nomina- 
tion at  such  a  very  critical  hour,  and  to  such  a  post  of 
danger  as  the  Court  of  St.  James.  He  trusted  that  this 
confidence  in  him  would  not  prove  to  have  been  misplaced. 
—  All  these  were,  of  course,  the  inevitable  things  to  say, 
and  Mr.  Adams  was  saying  them  very  gravely  indeed,  and 


THE   BATTLE  367 

apparently  expecting  to  say  on  to  the  end  ;  but  the  Presi- 
dent interrupted  him  at  this  point. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  he  said,  easily,  —  "make  yourself 
comfortable  on  that  score,  Mr.  Adams.  We  have  no  doubt 
at  all  that  your  services  will  be  most  satisfactory." 

There  was  a  moment's  halt.  "  Ahem  !  "  said  the  minis- 
ter. "  I  have  wished  to  thank  you  —  " 

The  President  stopped  him  again.  "You  know,"  he 
said,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  confidence,  "your  appoint- 
ment isn't  my  doings,  anyway  —  it's  the  Governor's." 
The  speaker  waved  his  hand  toward  Mr.  Seward.  "  It 
was  the  Governor's  choice,  you  understand,  so  it's  him 
you  have  to  thank." 

A  lifetime  of  social  training,  together  with  the  inherited 
attributes  of  his  two  ancestral  diplomats,  was  not  enough 
to  enable  the  stately  gentleman  from  Boston  to  conceal 
entirely  his  discomfiture  at  this  remark.  It  was  only  for 
an  instant,  however,  that  he  was  at  a  loss  ;  then  once 
more  in  his  cold  and  impassive  manner  he  began  to  speak. 
"  Naturally,  Mr.  President,"  he  said,  "  in  so  grave  a  crisis 
you  will  wish  to  consult  with  me  — " 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Lincoln,  and  he  gave  a  slight 
bow,  smiling  pleasantly.  "  You  know,  though,"  he  added, 
"  the  Governor  is  going  to  run  that  part  of  our  business, 
Mr.  Adams.  All  that  there  is  to  tell  you  he'll  attend  to, 
I  imagine." 

Again  there  was  a  silence,  this  time  permanent,  so  far 
as  Mr.  Adams  was  concerned.  The  President  sat  gazing 
in  front  of  him,  rocking  his  foot  up  and  down.  Then  all 
at  once  he  started.  "  Oh,  by  the  way,  Governor,"  he  said, 
turning  to  Mr.  Seward,  —  "I've  decided  that  Chicago 
appointment !  " 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Mr.  Seward. 

"  Yes,  sir  !     I  gave  it  to  Harris,  after  all !  " 

Again  there  was  a  pause.  "  Funny,"  continued  the 
speaker,  again  in  his  abstract  way,  gazing  into  space,  "  I 
never  had  an  office  give  me  so  much  trouble  as  that  one. 
I  think  there  have  been  a  dozen  delegations  on  here. 
There  were  two  fellows  who  wanted  it,  you  understand, 


368  MANASSAS 

and  the  way  they  set  about  it  was  for  each  to  send  me 
charges  involving  the  honesty  of  the  other.  And  of 
course  I  told  each  about  the  charges,  and  demanded  that 
they  clear  them  up,  but  instead  of  that  —  back  they  came 
with  more  charges,  each  against  the  other  !  '  That  won't 
do,  gentlemen,'  I  said  — 4  it  isn't  a  question  of  the  other 
man;  it's  a  question  of  your  man.  I  want  you  to  dis- 
prove these  charges.'  They'd  go  all  the  way  to  Chicago, 
and  come  back  with  fresh  stories.  Of  course  they  wore 
me  out  —  as  I  suppose  they  expected  to.  I  had  to  appoint 
the  least  bad  of  them." 

The  President  had  slid  back  in  his  chair  again,  and  was 
laughing  good-humoredly.  He  was  getting  to  be  at  his 
ease  again.  "  You  know,"  he  began,  all  at  once,  "  it  made 
me  think  of  the  story  of  Daniel  Webster  and  the  school- 
master. Did  any  of  you  gentlemen  ever  hear  of  Daniel 
Webster  and  the  schoolmaster  ?  " 

Nobody  had,  apparently. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Lincoln,  "  when  Daniel  was  in  school, 
he  was  a  very  careless  boy  —  some  called  him  a  dirty  boy. 
His  teacher  had  many  times  reproved  him  for  not  washing 
his  hands.  He  had  coaxed  and  scolded  him,  but  it  didn't 
do  any  good  —  Daniel  would  come  to  school  with  his 
hands  dirty.  Out  of  all  patience  with  him,  one  day  at 
last  he  called  Daniel  to  his  desk  and  made  him  hold  up  his 
hands  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  school ;  then  he  sol- 
emnly warned  him  that  if  ever  he  came  to  school  again 
with  his  hands  in  that  condition,  he  would  give  him  a  lick- 
ing he'd  never  forget. 

"  Well,  Daniel  promised  better  behavior,  and  for  two 
or  three  days  there  was  an  improvement  —  his  hands 
looked  as  if  they  were  washed  daily.  But  the  reforma- 
tion was  not  permanent,  and  in  a  few  days  his  hands  were 
as  dirty  as  ever.  The  teacher's  sharp  eyes  detected  them, 
and  as  soon  as  school  had  opened  for  the  day,  with  a  stern 
voice  he  said, 4  Daniel,  come  here  ! '  The  guilty  culprit  knew 
what  was  coming,  and  his  hands  began  to  tingle  in  antici- 
pation. He  stealthily  brought  the  palm  of  his  right  hand 
into  contact  with  his  tongue,  and,  as  he  walked  slowly 


THE   BATTLE  369 

toward  the  master's  desk,  he  rubbed  his  hand  upon  his 
pantaloons,  in  the  effort  to  remove  some  of  the  dirt. 
*  Hold  out  your  hand,  sir  ! '  said  the  master,  and  Daniel 
extended  it,  palm  up.  'Do  you  call  that  a  clean  hand?' 
demanded  the  teacher.  '  Not  very,  sir  ! '  modestly  replied 
the  offender.  4 1  should  think  not  very  ! '  said  the  master. 
4  If  you  can  show  me  a  dirtier  hand  in  this  schoolroom, 
I  will  let  you  off.'  And  then,. quick  as  a  flash,  Daniel 
thrust  out  his  other  hand,  which  hadn't  undergone  the 
cleansing  process.  4  There  it  is,  sir  ! '  said  he." 

Never  in  his  life  did  Allan  forget  the  various  heroic 
attempts  which  the  auditors  made  to  laugh  over  that  story; 
and  when  at  last  the  three  had  taken  their  departure  and 
come  outside  of  the  building,  they  stood  and  looked  at 
each  other,  and  Jack  Otis  gasped,  "Jehoshaphatf" 


CHAPTER   III 

EVENTS  moved  on  apace.  The  States  of  North  Carolina, 
Tennessee,  and  Arkansas  seceded  and  joined  the  Confed- 
eracy ;  and  on  the  4th  of  May  the  Washington  govern- 
ment issued  a  call  for  eighty-two  thousand  more  men.  By 
this  time  the  voluntary  contributions  of  the  North  had 
amounted  to  some  forty  millions  of  dollars,  nearly  half  of 
what  it  was  estimated  would  be  the  cost  of  the  putting 
down  of  the  rebellion. 

At  the  South,  also,  the  fervor  burned  high.  Private 
citizens  were  raising  companies  and  regiments,  and  equip- 
ping them  at  their  own  expense  —  there  were  so  many 
offers  the  government  could  not  accept  one  quarter  of 
them,  though  it  was  raising  an  army  of  a  hundred  thousand. 
The  Congress  had  met  at  Montgomery,  and  passed  a  formal 
declaration  of  war  :  also,  in  answer  to  Lincoln's  proclama- 
tion of  a  blockade  of  the  Southern  ports,  it  authorized 
President  Davis  to  commission  privateers,  and  it  prohibited 
the  payment  of  all  debts  due  to  Northerners,  and  seques- 
tered property  belonging  to  them. 

In  the  West  a  desperate  struggle  was  going  on  for  the 
possession  of  Kentucky  and  Missouri.  Kentucky  was 
wavering,  and  her  legislature  had  passed  an  act  declaring 
"neutrality,"  and  forbidding  either  of  the  contending 
parties  to  enter  her  limits  —  a  prohibition  which  each 
respected,  for  fear  of  driving  the  State  into  the  arms  of  the 
other.  In  Missouri  the  masses  were  for  the  most  part 
loyal,  but  the  governor  was  an  active  secessionist,  and  he 
assembled  the  State  militia,  which  was  in  sympathy  with 
him,  planning  to  seize  the  United  States  arsenal  at  St. 
Louis,  and  command  the  city  and  the  State.  The  com- 
mander of  the  arsenal  was  too  quick  for  him,  however. 
This  officer,  a  Captain  Lyon,  a  very  little  hornet  of  a  man, 
got  together  secretly  the  loyal  men  of  the  city  —  Germans, 

370 


THE   BATTLE  371 

for  the  most  part  —  and  after  making  a  tour  of  the  en- 
campment of  the  militia  disguised  as  a  woman,  he  suddenly 
descended  upon  it  with  six  thousand  men  and  took  its 
occupants  prisoners.  There  was  some  fighting,  and  a  riot 
in  the  streets,  but  the  gallant  little  captain  landed  most  of 
his  prisoners  in  the  arsenal,  and  was  made  a  brigadier  for 
his  exploit. 

The  troops  continued  to  pour  into  Washington,  and  the 
country  was  calling  for  action,  murmuring  with  discontent 
at  the  slowness  of  the  authorities.  Six  weeks  and  more 
had  passed  since  the  outbreak  of  hostilities,  and  still  the 
"sacred  soil"  of  Virginia  had  remained  untouched  by  a 
Northern  foot.  Sixteen  thousand  of  the  Confederates 
were  at  Manassas  Junction,  a  place  about  thirty  miles  from 
Washington,  where  the  railroad  from  that  city  to  Richmond 
was  joined  by  another  from  the  Shenandoah;  and  in  the  town 
of  Alexandria,  just  across  the  river  from  the  capital,  their 
flag  was  kept  floating  from  a  hotel  in  full  view  of  the 
White  House.  Not,  however,  until  it  was  discovered  that 
the  enemy  was  on  the  point  of  seizing  Arlington  heights  to 
fortify  them  and  command  the  city  did  the  authorities 
move ;  on  the  night  of  the  23d  of  May,  just  after  the  men 
of  the  Fifth  Massachusetts  had  gotten  asleep  in  their  un- 
comfortably crowded  quarters,  they  were  turned  out  and 
ordered  to  prepare  to  march.  Amid  intense  excitement 
they  set  out,  leaving  a  good  part  of  their  baggage  behind 
them,  and  in  the  bright  moonlight  crossed  the  Aqueduct 
Bridge  at  Georgetown.  It  was  the  first  act  of  war,  and  a 
breathless  crowd  watched  them  march,  all  in  dead  silence. 
It  had  been  hoped  to  capture  the  enemy's  forces  in  Alex- 
andria, but  these  all  got  off  by  the  railroad,  and  there  was 
only  some  scattered  shooting  here  and  there. 

Other  troops  had  crossed  by  the  "  Long  Bridge,"  and 
a  regiment  of  New  York  "  Zouaves  "  was  transferred  to 
Alexandria  by  boat.  This  organization,  which  had  been 
recruited  mainly  from  the  firemen  of  the  metropolis,  was 
under  the  command  of  a  handsome  young  officer,  Colonel 
Ellsworth,  who  had  been  conspicuous  in  Washington. 
After  he  had  posted  his  men  he  chanced  to  notice  the  rebel 


372  MANASSAS 

flag  which  still  floated  from  the  hotel,  and  he  mounted  to 
the  cupola  and  took  it  down.  As  he  descended  the  steps, 
the  proprietor  of  the  place  sprang  out  and  emptied  the 
contents  of  a  double-barrelled  shot-gun  into  the  young 
officer's  heart. 

This  act  of  frenzied  hatred  sent  a  thrill  of  horror  through 
the  nation.  Ellsworth  had  been  a  friend  of  Lincoln,  and 
it  is  said  that  when  the  news  came  to  him  he  burst  into 
tears.  The  country  was  not  used  to  war,  and  it  seemed 
too  dreadful  to  be  believed  that  a  young  life  had  thus  been 
swept  out  of  existence.  Columns  of  poetry  were  printed 
in  the  newspapers,  glorifying  him  as  the  martyred  hero  of 
the  nation.  And  on  the  other  hand  the  South  with  equal 
fervor  celebrated  the  hotel  proprietor,  who  had  been  shot 
dead  by  one  of  Ellsworth's  men.  He  died  nobly,  it  was 
held,  defending  his  home  from  invasion  and  his  country's 
flag  from  insult. 

Fortifications  were  laid  out,  and  the  regiments  went 
into  camp,  each  separately.  That  of  the  Fifth  was  called 
"  Camp  Andrew,"  in  honor  of  the  governor  of  its  State. 
Here  began  again  the  long  routine  of  drill  and  guard- 
mounting,  and  of  toil  in  the  trenches  in  the  blazing  sun, 
varied  only  by  sudden  alarms,  and  by  daily  rumors  of  the 
enemy's  approach.  A  great  many  of  the  regiments  were  in 
a  state  of  utter  confusion,  for  most  of  the  officers  were  poli- 
ticians who  did  not  know  enough  about  military  matters 
to  make  out  a  requisition  for  stores  ;  many  of  them  also, 
instead  of  learning,  were  lounging  about  the  hotels  and  bar- 
rooms of  the  capital,  and  galloping  on  horseback  through 
the  streets,  displaying  their  gorgeous  uniforms.  There 
were  ugly  stories  that  some  of  them  were  selling  govern- 
ment rations,  and  were  in  league  with  sutlers  to  defraud 
their  men.  Under  such  circumstances  it  was  not  surpris- 
ing that  the  rank  and  file  were  ill-behaved — that  the  camps 
were  dirty,  and  that  crowds  of  drunken  soldiers  swarmed 
in  Washington,  fighting  in  the  streets,  and  begging  from 
the  passers-by.  Decent  men  witnessed  such  things  as  this, 
and  burned  with  indignation  ;  but  no  efforts  seemed  to 


THE   BATTLE  373 

count  for  anything  in  the  saturnalia  of  incompetence  that 
reigned. 

At  this  time  the  government  had  made  no  regulations 
concerning  uniforms,  and  each  company  was  costumed 
according  to  its  taste.  Endless  was  the  variety  to  be 
seen  in  the  camps  —  there  were  some  companies  made  up 
wholly  of  foreigners,  and  most  of  these  had  chosen  uni- 
forms from  their  native  lands.  In  the  regiment  next  to 
Allan's  was  one  in  the  full  regalia  of  the  Bavarian  regulars, 
and  every  night  there  was  fighting  between  them  and  a 
near-by  Irish  regiment,  "  Mike "  Corcoran's  Sixty-ninth 
New  York  —  whose  colonel  was  still  under  court-martial 
for  having  refused  to  parade  in  honor  of  the  Prince  of 
Wales  ! 

In  addition  to  the  confusion  of  uniform,  the  equipments 
of  the  regiments  were  hopelessly  diverse.  Scarcely  a 
battery  had  two  guns  of  the  same  caliber,  and  there  were 
a  score  of  different  kinds  of  tents,  and  no  one  seemed  to 
know  how  to  put  up  any  of  them.  The  arms  that  were 
issued  were  of  various  patterns  —  many  having  come  from 
abroad,  many  being  old  and  worthless  ;  also,  there  was  no 
cavalry,  and  consequently  no  information  concerning  the 
enemy  in  front  —  there  was  not  even  a  map  to  be  had  of 
the  country,  and  riding-horses  were  so  scarce  in  Washing- 
ton that  staff-officers  went  campaigning  in  buggies. 

Yet  the  nation  had  made  a  mighty  effort  to  raise  this 
army,  and  the  newspapers  were  wild  to  have  something 
done  with  it.  Every  editor  and  correspondent  had  turned 
strategist,  and  was  planning  the  campaign  —  the  soldiers 
planned  it  in  the  camps,  and  the  cabinet  planned  it  in 
Washington.  General  Scott  was  in  favor  of  a  close 
blockade  and  a  slow  advance  of  the  mighty  army  that 
would  be  ready  in  the  fall ;  but  this  did  not  suit  the 
country,  which  made  fun  of  his  scheme  under  the  title 
of  "  Scott's  Anaconda,"  and  insisted  upon  instant  action. 
When  the  news  came  that  the  Confederate  government 
had  shifted  its  capital  to  Richmond,  this,  which  seemed  a 
direct  challenge,  set  every  one  blazing  with  indignation, 
and  made  the  papers  more  impatient  than  ever.  The 


374  MANASSAS 

New  York   Times  reiterated   its   opinion   that  President 
Lincoln  ought  to  be  immediately  deposed. 

The  first  battle  of  the  war  —  a  "  battle  "  they  called  it 
—  came  at  "Big  Bethel,"  just  back  of  Fortress  Monroe, 
where  General  Butler  had  been  sent  to  take  command. 
The  result  of  it  was  only  to  increase  the  clamor  —  the 
general  sent  out  three  regiments  to  seize  by  night  a  rebel 
battery,  and  in  the  darkness  they  went  astray  and  fired 
upon  each  other,  and  then  were  driven  back  from  the 
battery  with  the  loss  of  a  score  or  more  killed.  This 
seemed  like  a  calamity  to  the  people.  So  much  blood 
poured  out  for  nothing  !  they  said.  So  much  effort  and 
expense,  and  only  humiliation  after  humiliation  !  The 
gallant  Massachusetts  lawyer  fell  under  a  cloud  —  for  a 
moment  the  country  even  forgot  its  gratitude  to  him  for 
the  master-stroke  of  humor  of  the  war. 

This  was  the  invention  of  the  "  contraband."  From 
the  beginning  the  military  commanders  had  had  to  face 
the  possibility  of  servile  insurrection  and  the  ever  pres- 
ent fact  of  servile  elopement.  The  slaves  came  pour- 
ing into  Fortress  Monroe  by  the  hundreds,  and  they  all 
declared  that  their  masters  had  used  them  in  constructing 
military  works.  It  was  not  long  before  one  Confederate 
officer  sent  to  General  Butler  a  flag  of  truce  demanding 
the  return  of  one  of  his  servants,  under  the  Fugitive 
Slave  Act :  to  which  the  wary  lawyer-general  made 
response  that  he  understood  Virginia  was  now  a  foreign 
country,  and  that  he  did  not  see  how  the  act  could  apply. 
A  few  days  later  the  North  was  startled  by  the  tidings 
that  the  general  had  declared  that  slaves,  being  "prop- 
erty," and  property  of  military  service,  were  "  contraband- 
of-war  !  "  The  phrase  settled  the  question  on  the  instant, 
for  it  caught  the  humor  of  the  country  ;  the  negro  who 
got  into  the  Union  lines  after  that  was  a  "  contraband," 
and  he  was  never  sent  back. 

In  the  western  part  of  Virginia,  meantime,  there  had 
been  events  of  importance,  and  at  last  a  victory.  In  all 
the  mountainous  portions  of  the  Confederacy  the  hold  of 
Slavery  had  been  slight,  and  there  had  developed  more  or 


THE   BATTLE  375 

less  opposition  to  secession.  In  the  Northern  portions 
—  that  is,  in  Eastern  Tennessee  and  Western  Virginia  — 
the  Union  feeling  had  proven  almost  overwhelming  ;  and 
in  the  latter,  meetings  had  been  held  and  a  convention 
called  at  Wheeling,  which  now  declared  for  the  with- 
drawal of  that  portion  of  the  State  from  the  Confederacy. 
To  sustain  this  movement  troops  were  advanced  from 
Ohio,  and  by  a  night  attack  by  several  regiments  upon 
a  place  called  Philippi,  the  only  Confederate  force  in 
West  Virginia  was  routed,  —  a  victory  which  set  the 
country  quite  beside  itself  with  rejoicing. 

That  was  the  way  to  do  it,  said  the  newspapers  ;  and 
the  prodding  of  the  Washington  government  went  on. 
Most  of  the  volunteers  had  enlisted  for  only  three  months ; 
their  time  was  passing,  and  they  were  discontented  and 
indignant  —  if  they  were  not  soon  led  out  against  the 
enemy  they  would  return  home,  and  the  army  would  col- 
lapse. The  month  of  May  passed,  and  the  month  of  June, 
in  the  sweltering  heat  of  a  Virginia  encampment,  and 
still  there  was  no  advance.  "FORWARD  TO  RICH- 
MOND!" "FORWARD  TO  RICHMOND  !"  thundered 
the  New  York  Tribune,  in  enormous  letters  upon  its  edito- 
rial page.  Day  after  day  it  printed  this  under  the  title  of 
"THE  NATION'S  WAR-CRY." 

The  Tribune  was  a  high  authority ;  but  there  were 
those  who  declared  the  nation's  war-cry  to  be  different 
from  this.  General  Beauregard,  the  conqueror  of  Sumter, 
had  been  sent  to  take  command  at  Manassas,  and  he  now 
issued  a  proclamation,  addressed  to  people  of  Virginia. 
Beauregard  was  a  fiery  little  Creole  gentleman  from  New 
Orleans,  and  he  set  to  work  to  "  fire  the  Southern  heart," 
as  Yancey  had  once  phrased  it.  "  A  reckless  and  un- 
principled tyrant  has  invaded  your  soil "  —  so  ran  his 
pronunciamiento.  —  "  Abraham  Lincoln,  regardless  of  all 
moral,  legal,  and  constitutional  restraints,  has  thrown 
his  Abolition  hosts  among  you,  who  are  murdering  and 
imprisoning  your  citizens,  confiscating  and  destroying 
your  property,  and  committing  other  acts  of  violence 
and  outrage  too  shocking  and  revolting  to  humanity  to 


376  MANASSAS 

be  enumerated.  All  rules  of  civilized  warfare  are  aban- 
doned, and  they  proclaim  by  their  acts,  if  not  on  their 
banners,  that  their  war-cry  is  'Beauty  and  Booty.'  All 
that  is  dear  to  man — your  honor  and  that  of  your  wives 
and  daughters  —  are  involved  in  this  momentous  conflict ! " 

The  Fifth  Massachusetts  had  been  drilling  ever  since 
the  previous  January,  and  so  the  men  regarded  themselves 
as  veterans.  They  took  it  ill  that  they  should  be  held 
back  and  kept  waiting  by  the  raw  volunteers  who  were 
pouring  into  camp  day  after  day.  So  often  they  had  been 
shaken  by  the  rumors  of  an  advance,  and  so  often  been 
disappointed,  that  they  had  given  up  in  despair,  and 
abandoned  themselves  to  swearing  at  the  government. 
But  the  delays  could  not  last  forever  —  business  was  bad 
and  the  taxes1  were  appalling.  Six  weeks  more  had  passed, 
and  many  of  the  early  volunteers  had  only  a  few  more  days 
to  remain;  the  rumor  of  the  forward  movement  then  came 
daily  and  almost  hourly.  At  last,  on  the  13th  of  July, 
the  order  was  read  for  the  Fifth  to  pack  personal  baggage 
and  send  it  to  Alexandria.  The  camp  leaped  into  life 
once  more. 

The  three  who  tented  with  Allan  had  not  much  to  send 
back  —  they  expected  to  take  everything  with  them,  it 
appeared:  a  miscellaneous  assortment  of  clothing,  toilet 
articles,  slippers,  brushes  and  combs,  a  harmonica,  a  spy- 
glass, a  jar  of  preserves,  half  a  box  of  cigars,  and  so  on. 
Allan  concluded  after  meditation  to  follow  the  example 
of  Sergeant  Schlemmer,  whose  outfit  consisted  of  a  change 
of  underclothing,  a  toothbrush,  and  a  tin  plate  and  spoon. 
The  sergeant  had  by  this  time  become  the  oracle  of  half 
the  regiment,  being  the  only  man  in  it  who  had  ever  had  any 
experience  of  war.  High  officials  used  to  repair  to  him 
to  have  knotty  points  in  the  regulations  ravelled  out; 
and  in  the  evenings  he  was  generally  the  centre  of  a 
group  of  open-eyed  militiamen,  to  whom  he  taught  the 
fine  points  of  campaigning.  It  was  due  to  Sergeant 
Schlemmer  that  theirs  was  the  only  company  in  the 
regiment  whose  men  were  not  limping  about  with  blis- 


THE   BATTLE  377 

tered  feet,  owing  to  the  fearful  shoes  which  the  quarter- 
master had  given  out ;  the  sergeant  had  taught  them  to 
plaster  the  inside  of  their  socks  with  soft  soap,  and  be 
happy.  Now  he  was  sitting  in  his  doorway,  puffing  at 
his  pipe  and  giving  them  his  advice  as  to  marching, — 
that  they  should  fill  their  canteens  at  every  stream,  that 
they  should  not  straggle,  nor  waste  their  breath  singing, 
nor  "  cut  up  "  in  the  early  part  of  the  day. 

"  You  think  we  will  have  to  march  so  far,  then  ?  "  some 
one  asked  him,  anxiously. 

"  You  never  know  where  you  are  going  to  march,"  he 
answered.  "  You  may  march  all  night  to  find  the  enemy, 
and  all  day  fighting  him,  and  all  the  next  night  running 
away  from  him." 

"  Get  food  "  —  that  was  the  sergeant's  further  advice  — 
"  you'll  find  there's  nothing  else  counts  —  food  and  tobacco. 
You  won't  march  far  before  you'll  see  men  throwing  away 
their  haversacks  —  cut  them  open  and  take  the  food. 
Don't  take  anything  else.  When  you  need  shoes  and 
uniforms,  you  can  draw  them  from  the  quartermaster. 
But  food  —  " 

"  You  can  draw  rations,  too,"  suggested  some  one. 

"  You  can,"  said  Schlemmer,  "  until  the  commissary's 
wagons  begin  to  break  down,  and  the  enemy  takes  to  shoot- 
ing his  mules.  Then  I  tell  you  there'll  come  a  time  when 
if  you  see  a  dead  man  in  the  way,  the  first  thing  you 
think  of  is  if  there's  anything  on  him  to  eat." 

There  were  two  more  days  of  delay;  but  they  were 
really  going  to  move  this  time  —  the  thing  was  in  the 
air.  Staff-officers  were  galloping  hither  and  thither,  and 
all  the  regiments  were  astir.  The  visitors  were  coming 
out  to  the  camps  in  swarms  to  say  good-by,  and  the  men 
writing  reams  of  letters  home.  Then  finally  one  afternoon 
when  they  lined  up  for  parade,  they  got  their  orders — three 
days'  rations,  light  marching  order,  and  a  start  at  sunrise 
on  the  morrow.  The  regiment  broke  into  a  cheer,  and  they 
heard  it  taken  up  by  others  in  the  distance. 

It  was  an  army  the  like  of  which  had  never  been  seen 


378  MANASSAS 

before  on  this  continent  —  it  was  full  forty  thousand 
strong.  One  could  see  it  all  from  the  top  of  the  hill,  — • 
for  miles  around  the  country  was  white  with  patches  of 
tents,  while  at  night  there  were  thousands  of  camp-fires, 
shining  like  red  eyes  in  the  darkness.  And  at  last  it  was 
going  forth  to  battle  —  it  was  going  to  drive  rebellion  out 
of  the  land!  There  were  solemn  hours  in  the  camps 
that  night,  and  many  of  the  regiments  held  prayer-meet- 
ings. 

In  the  morning,  when  the  reveille  sounded,  they  tum- 
bled out.  It  was  still  dark,  but  men  were  laughing 
and  singing,  and  the  morning  was  cool  and  damp,  and 
every  one's  heart  thumped  with  excitement  and  expec- 
tation; men  swallowed  their  breakfast  in  huge  gulps. 
The  Fifth  —  the  "steady  Fifth,"  as  they  called  it  —  was 
to  lead  one  of  the  columns  of  march ;  and  several  of  the 
companies  had  been  ordered  ahead  on  skirmish  duty. 
That  was  breathless  work  —  stealing  along  through  the 
bushes,  where  any  moment  one  might  come  into  view 
of  the  enemy's  outposts.  What  hunting  that  one 
had  ever  dreamed  of  was  quite  equal  to  this  hunting  of 
men? 

Soon  the  column  was  in  full  swing  down  the  road.  It 
was  in  vain  that  the  sergeant  had  warned  them  to  waste 
no  strength  in  "  cutting  up  "  and  in  singing.  They  sang 
until  they  were  hoarse  —  such  delightful  songs  they  had ! 
"  The  whiskey-bottle  lies  empty  on  the  shelf  "  was  one  of 
their  masterpieces  of  humor;  also  they  renewed  their 
never-dying  resolution  concerning  "  Jeff.  Davis  "  and  the 
sour-apple  tree.  There  was  a  company  of  the  regiment 
from  Charlestown,  and  they  had  a  patriotic  chorus  on  the 
subject  of  Bunker  Hill.  Now  and  then  some  luckless  staff- 
officer  would  ride  by  them,  all  bright  and  shiny  and  new  ; 
and  how  mercilessly  they  would  guy  him,  what  endless 
ingenuity  in  their  invention  of  expletives !  At  last  the 
wretch  would  spur  his  horse  and  gallop  on  in  desperation 
—  though  sometimes,  alas,  he  did  not  dare  to,  having  per- 
haps never  been  on  a  horse  in  his  life  until  two  or  three 
weeks  before  I 


THE   BATTLE  379 

But  then  the  sun  rose,  and  the  singing  died,  and  men 
began  to  turn  red  and  mop  their  faces.  When  the  column 
halted,  they  no  longer  played  pranks  upon  each  other,  but 
sat  down  in  silence  by  the  roadside.  Then  it  was  that 
things  began  to  be  thrown  away  —  the  waste  would  have 
been  shameful,  had  it  not  been  for  a  battery  of  artillery  just 
in  the  rear.  These  artillerymen  strode  jauntily,  having  no 
burdens  to  carry,  and  they  gathered  up  everything  in  sight, 
and  laughed  and  called  for  more.  Pretty  soon  their  cais- 
sons looked  like  the  wagons  of  a  travelling  pedler  — 
knapsacks  and  articles  of  clothing  dangling  in  rows.  The 
man  who  marched  next  to  Allan  swore  softly,  now  and 
then,  hearing  from  one  of  the  guns  of  this  battery  the 
strains  of  the  harmonica  he  had  carried  and  had  hidden 
away  in  a  thicket  at  the  last  halt. 

The  army  was  moving  in  four  columns,  upon  separate 
roads,  centering  at  Fairfax  Court  House ;  at  the  hills  one 
could  look  back  and  see  his  own  column  stretching  far 
into  the  distance,  like  a  huge  snake  —  gliding  with  a  slow, 
writhing  motion  over  the  hillocks  and  down  into  the 
hollows.  The  effect  of  it  was  indescribably  curious  —  red 
and  blue  and  yellow  and  gray  and  black  it  was  —  looking 
as  if  the  contents  of  a  paint-box  had  been  emptied  upon 
it.  Nowhere  was  there  any  uniformity,  save  in  one  place 
where  a  few  companies  of  the  regulars  had  been  placed 
together.  These  latter  marched  in  good  order ;  but  some 
of  the  regiments  were  mere  mobs,  having  been  enlisted 
only  a  few  days,  and  having  come  to  Washington  but  a 
few  hours  before  —  and  now  going  out  to  battle  ! 

Still  farther  in  the  rear  was  the  train  of  white-topped 
wagons,  making  one  think  of  the  pioneers  and  the  prairies. 
Among  them  were  also  buggies  and  coaches,  filled  with 
civilians  who  had  come  out  to  witness  the  spectacle  — 
senators  and  congressmen,  diplomats,  newspaper  men,  all 
eager  to  be  in  at  the  death  of  rebellion. 

It  was  a  marvellously  uncomfortable  thing  —  this  army ; 
a  thing  newly  born,  and  green,  very  much  aware  of  itself, 
palpitating,  thin-skinned,  sensitive.  Every  man  there 
was  a-tremble  with  excitement,  burning  up  with  the  con- 


380  MANASSAS 

sciousness  that  humanity  with  all  its  fears  was  hanging 
breathless  on  his  fate.  It  was  an  army  liable  to  sudden 
shocks,  to  strange  panics  and  terrifying  alarms;  a  most 
dangerous  army  to  stray  pigs  and  cows  that  ran  into  it  in 
the  thicket.  Its  skirmishers  did  not  know  how  to  handle 
their  muskets  very  well,  and  sometimes  in  pushing  through 
the  underbrush  they  left  the  hammers  of  their  guns  un- 
covered and  shot  each  other.  There  were  popping  reports 
in  front  all  through  the  day,  and  now  and  then  a  volley ; 
whenever  this  happened,  the  heads  of  the  columns  always 
halted,  and  officers  galloped  madly  here  and  there,  shout- 
ing orders.  There  would  be  an  attempt  to  deploy  in  line 
of  battle,  but  almost  no  one  knew  the  necessary  evolutions, 
and  the  result  would  generally  be  that  the  regiments  got 
huddled  together  like  sheep  in  a  pen.  At  such  times  any 
man  who  felt  a  talent  within  him  did  what  he  could  to 
clear  up  the  confusion. 

It  was  a  very  democratic  army ;  no  one  paid  any  par- 
ticular attention  to  orders,  but  every  one  had  his  own 
ideas  about  the  strategy  of  this  campaign,  and  swore  at 
the  commanders  and  the  administration.  The  person  who 
was  responsible  for  it  all  was  one  McDowell,  a  well-mean- 
ing and  patriotic  gentleman,  a  general  in  the  regular 
army  ;  but  he  had  never  been  on  a  campaign,  and  at  pres- 
ent he  was  sick,  and  had,  as  it  happened,  almost  no  staff 
to  help  him.  To  make  matters  worse,  the  Secretary  of 
War  was  present,  somewhere,  making  suggestions  out  of 
the  infinitude  of  his  ignorance. 

All  the  spies  were  on  the  other  side,  apparently,  and  no 
(me  in  this  advancing  host  had  any  idea  of  where  the 
enemy  was,  or  how  much  there  was  of  him.  There  were 
only  vague  reports  of  enormous  hosts,  of  fortifications  at 
Manassas,  and  of  new  regiments  coming  every  hour  from 
Richmond;  of  General  Johnston's  army  somewhere  in 
the  Shenandoah  that  was  hurrying  up  by  railroad.  Wide- 
eyed  negroes  had  been  bringing  into  the  camps  accounts 
of  an  all-destroying  squadron  known  as  the  "  Black  Horse 
Cavalry  " ;  and  every  time  an  equestrian  appeared  on  the 
horizon,  this  terrifying  name  was  heard. 


THE   BATTLE  381 

But  the  enemy  did  not  appear,  and  they  bivouacked  for 
the  night.  Scarcely  had  they  gotten  asleep  before  there 
were  shots  and  cries,  and  the  drums  beat  the  long  roll,  and 
they  tumbled  out  and  seized  their  muskets.  Spies,  or 
scouts,  or  the  advance  guard  of  an  approaching  foe  —  no 
one  could  be  certain ;  but  one  prisoner  was  led  in,  a  coun- 
tryman, excessively  frightened,  and  so  the  camp  settled 
down  once  more. 

They  were  up  again  at  dawn,  marching  cautiously,  with 
skirmishers  far  ahead,  and  others  cutting  trees  to  clear  the 
road.  They  were  in  the  enemy's  country  now  —  they  saw 
scouting  parties  in  the  distance,  and  there  were  occasional 
shots  from  the  hilltops.  The  houses  they  passed  were  all 
deserted  —  evidently  General  Beauregard's  proclamation 
had  been  taken  seriously  by  the  farmers  about  here.  In 
the  afternoon  the  regiment  came  to  Sangster's  Station,  on 
the  Orange  and  Alexandria  Railroad  —  just  in  time  to  see 
a  train  disappearing  with  the  last  of  the  "  rebels,"  jeering 
derisively.  They  slept  that  night  in  a  field  of  new-mown 
hay,  without  stopping  to  build  any  sort  of  a  shelter. 

The  main  portions  of  the  army  were  then  a  little  to  the 
right,  at  Fairfax  Court  House.  A  few  miles  ahead  was  a 
village  called  Centre ville,  and  beyond  this  a  little  valley 
where  ran  a  stream  known  as  Bull  Run.  On  the  other 
side  of  Bull  Run,  as  one  followed  the  main  turnpike, 
he  came  to  Manassas  Junction,  a  village  of  a  dozen 
or  two  houses,  where  the  camp  of  the  enemy  was  known 
to  be. 

In  the  morning  the  expected  order  to  advance  did  not 
come.  The  men  were  keyed  up  to  a  high  pitch  —  they 
were  wild  with  impatience,  and  spent  their  time  wander- 
ing about,  listening,  speculating.  Where  was  the  rest  of 
the  army?  And  what  was  the  matter  with  it?  How 
much  longer  would  they  be  kept  waiting  here  ?  So  the 
morning  passed,  and  dinner-time  came  —  and  then  sud- 
denly—  hark  !  Men  sprang  to  their  feet,  their  blood 
bounding.  It  was  a  gun  ! 

One,  and  another,  and  another  !  A  cannonade  !  It 
was  two  or  three  miles  in  front  of  them,  sharp  and  clear, 

25 


382  MANASSAS 

quick  and  incessant.  They  stared  at  each  other  ;  it  was 
fighting  —  the  battle  had  begun  ! 

—  On  and  on  it  went,  and  they  listened  with  clenched 
hands  and  tense  faces.  Ha,  but  that  was  a  roll  !  How 
they  were  giving  it  to  them  !  Now  and  again  there  would 
come  a  lull,  and  they  could  hear  the  spattering  fire  of 
musketry,  sometimes  volleys  of  it  at  once.  It  was  a  real 
battle  this  time  —  the  whole  army  must  be  engaged  ! 

And  they  —  what*  were  they  doing  here  ?  Was  there 
nobody  in  charge,  nobody  to  see  about  this  ?  Had  they 
been  forgotten  entirely  ?  Dense  gray  clouds  of  smoke 
began  to  rise  in  the  distance,  and  spread  out  in  a  wan 
haze ;  and  the  guns  thundered  on,  faster  and  faster.  Men 
gathered  in  little  groups,  discussing  it  in  whispers. 

It  was  the  first  time  they  had  ever  heard  guns  in  real 
earnest.  It  was  a  wicked  kind  of  a  sound,  harsh  and  sin- 
ister, like  the  snarling  of  some  angry  beast;  it  set  the 
blood  to  racing,  it  got  upon  men's  nerves.  Some  of  them 
wandered  hither  and  thither,  like  caged  animals ;  others 
tried  to  laugh  their  nervousness  away.  Allan  noticed 
that  his  cousin  Jack  was  white  about  the  lips,  and  stood 
in  silence,  fumbling  at  his  sword.  Allan  himself  was  ex- 
cited to  the  point  of  pain  —  it  was  as  if  a  thousand  needles 
were  pricking  him  in  his  fingers  and  arms.  He  had  come 
out  to  see  this  thing  through,  he  told  himself,  and  he 
was  ready  to  face  it ;  but  to  stand  here  helpless,  and  just 
listen !  And  then  suddenly  he  chanced  to  notice  Sergeant 
Schlemmer,  sitting  with  his  back  to  a  tree  stump,  his  head 
comfortably  propped  and  his  eyes  closed.  The  sergeant 
had  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  as  ever ;  and  he  would  draw  it 
out  and  half  open  his  eyes,  and  take  in  the  scene,  and  then 
close  them  again  and  go  on  —  puff,  puff  ! 

A  full  half  hour  they  heard  the  firing,  when  suddenly 
there  were  shouts  near  by,  in  the  next  field,  where  the  First 
Massachusetts  was  posted.  A  courier  upon  a  foam-cov- 
ered horse  was  seen  to  dash  out  of  the  woods,  bringing 
them  orders  ;  and  they  were  forming  —  they  were  going 
to  the  fight  !  "  Our  turn  next  !  "  the  men  thought,  and 
bit  their  lips  together,  fingering  their  cartridge-belts  and 


THE   BATTLE  383 

trying  their  bayonets,  and  looking  furtively  now  and  then 
at  their  neighbors,  to  see  if  by  chance  any  one  else  there 
were  as  uneasy  as  they. 

—  So,  for  another  hour  or  two,  and  then  little  by  little 
the  firing  died  away.  The  musketry  ceased  altogether, 
and  the  cannon-shots  almost  so.  What  could  that  mean? 

They  discussed  it  excitedly.  Some  one  must  have  been 
beaten,  after  that  terrible  conflict ;  but  they  saw  no  signs 
of  a  rout  —  and  if  the  enemy  were  retreating,  surely,  they, 
the  Fifth,  would  at  least  get  a  chance  to  pursue.  They 
argued  this,  pro  and  con,  until  a  straggler  came  into  the 
camp  and  brought  them  the  story  —  that  there  had  been 
just  a  "  reconnoissance  "  at  one  of  the  fords  of  the  little 
stream ! 

And  then,  while  they  gazed  at  each  other,  feeling  so 
hopelessly  like  fools,  Allan  glanced  at  Sergeant  Schlemmer. 
The  sergeant  was  still  puffing  at  his  pipe. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  men  slept  on  their  arms.  But  the  morrow  came, 
and  the  next  day,  and  still  they  did  not  move.  So  they 
began  to  growl  and  grumble  again,  and  set  to  work  mak- 
ing themselves  shelters  out  of  poles  and  boughs.  If  their 
commander  was  going  to  keep  them  there  indefinitely,  he 
might  at  least  have  told  them,  so  that  they  could  keep  out 
of  the  rain,  they  said. 

The  truth  was  that  their  commander  was  working  like 
mad,  trying  to  get  his  supply  wagons  up  and  his  army  in 
hand  for  the  coming  battle ;  he  had  certainly  stimulus 
enough  to  haste,  for  the  time  of  some  regiment  expired 
every  day,  and  he  was  liable  to  lose  ten  thousand  men,  the 
third  of  his  army,  within  the  week.  One  Pennsylvania 
regiment  had  already  started  back  to  Washington  —  "  to 
the  sound  of  the  enemy's  cannon,"  as  he  phrased  it  in  his 
report.  The  time  of  the  Fifth  was  up  also,  but  if  there 
was  any  man  in  the  Fifth  who  wanted  to  go,  he  had  kept 
the  fact  a  close  secret.  Pennsylvania  men  might  do  that 
way,  but  not  Massachusetts  men. 

Saturday  evening,  the  twentieth  day  of  July,  the  orders 
came  at  last.  Cooked  rations  were  distributed,  and  the 
regiment  was  ordered  to  march  at  half-past  one  the  follow- 
ing morning.  Everybody  felt  that  this  time  it  meant 
business  —  that  the  death  grapple  with  secession  was 
coming. 

The  men  discussed  it,  sitting  in  groups,  some  of  them 
busily  cleaning  their  rifles.  Others,  who  happened  to  be 
of  a  meditative  turn  of  mind,  went  apart,  feeling  solemn. 
They  were  students,  and  business-men,  and  clerks,  these 
volunteers  —  as  for  fighting,  some  of  them  had  never  been 
in  so  much  as  a  fist  fight  in  their  lives.  A  battle  was 
a  thing  about  which  they  knew  through  books,  a  thing 
that  had  always  seemed  as  far  away  and  impossible  as  the 

384 


THE   BATTLE  385 

Arabian  Nights.  And  now  there  was  going  to  be  one  — 
here  !  to-morrow  !  And  they  to  be  in  it  !  How  strange 
it  was  to  think  about !  Bits  of  incidents  they  had  read 
would  float  into  their  minds  —  things  bloody  and  terrible 
• — and  now  suddenly  become  real!  One  looked  at  his 
companions,  wondering.  Did  they  know  what  they  were 
going  to  do  —  did  they  realize  what  it  was  going  to  be 
like?  Could  it  possibly  be  that  they  did,  and  that  they 
did  not  mind  it  any  more  than  they  seemed  to  ?  What 
uncomfortable  people  they  had  suddenly  become !  And 
how  overwhelmingly  you  felt  your  own  inferiority  — 
quaking  and  upset  as  you  were  ! 

Your  thoughts  fled  home  ;  and,  dear  God,  how  suddenly 
homesick  you  grew  !  Sick  —  sick  —  until  you  could  not 
bear  it,  and  ran  off,  so  that  the  fellows  might  not  hear  you 
sobbing  !  And  then  you  brought  yourself  back,  by  the 
scruff  of  the  neck,  so  to  speak,  to  face  the  music.  You 
thought  yourself  of  a  deal  of  importance,  but  you  were 
really  quite  a  nonentity  —  just  one  private  —  you  would 
figure  just  one  in  the  total  !  There  was  that  last  "recon- 
noissance,"  for  instance  —  eight  or  ten  killed,  so  it  ran.  It 
did  not  at  all  matter  which  I 

You  imagined  yourself  in  the  battle.  You  were  there, 
with  the  bullets  whizzing  about  you  —  just  what  would 
you  do  ?  Such  a  very  ticklish  feeling  came  over  you  ;  so 
strangely  aware  you  became  all  at  once — of  your  stomach! 
Your  stomach  was  such  a  soft  and  mushy  thing  ;  surely, 
if  a  man  had  been  intended  to  go  into  a  place  where  bul- 
lets were  flying,  he  ought  to  have  had  some  kind  of  a  hard 
coating  over  his  stomach  !  Now  and  then  in  a  sudden 
flash  you  would  realize  one  of  those  bullets,  and  would 
cave  in,  as  if  some  one  had  poked  a  spear-point  at  you. 
Was  there  any  part  of  you  at  all  that  you  could  imagine 
being  struck  by  a  bullet  ?  Anywhere  in  the  head  or  body 
—  no,  assuredly  not  there  !  The  arms  or  the  legs  might 
not  be  so  bad,  near  the  edge  ;  but  how  would  it  feel  to  be 
hit  in  one  of  your  bones  ? 

Eight  or  ten  killed  !  You  might  perhaps  take  the 
chance  ;  but  then,  even  eight  or  ten  would  not  be  enough 


386  MANASSAS 

—  there  would  surely  be  more  than  that  killed  in  a  real 
battle  !  Imagine  it  as  being  decided  in  advance — how 
would  it  seem  if  the  regiment  were  to  be  stood  up  in  line, 
watching  the  grisly  phantom,  Death,  coming  toward  them 
and  touching  one  on  the  shoulder  here  and  there  !  Would 
the  men  all  stand  in  perfect  quiet  and  indifference,  the 
way  they  did  now?  The  mere  fact  that  it  was  not  to 
happen  until  to-morrow  seemed  to  make  it  of  no  conse- 
quence at  all  to  them. 

Death  !  Death  !  The  devil  of  a  thing  it  was  to  think 
about  !  Of  course,  you  knew  that  everybody  had  to  die  ; 
but  then  you  had  never  included  yourself.  But  now  you 
did  ;  and  how  strange  it  .suddenly  made  things  seem  — 
how  ghostly  and  phantasmal  !  These  men  who  were 
moving  about  in  the  firelight  — to-morrow  they  might  all 
be  gone  !  They  would  be  here  of  course,  but  you  would 
not  know  about  them,  and  was  not  that  the  same  thing  to 
you  ?  You  were  to  be  added  in  that  total. 

And  when  you  were  dead,  where  would  you  be  ?  There 
were  some  men  here  who  believed  that  they  would  wake 
up  again,  after  it  was  all  over  ;  at  least  they  sang  hymns 
to  that  effect,  and  tried  to  make  believe  that  they  believed 
it.  An  extraordinary  sort  of  idea  was  that  —  but  still  it 
might  be  true,  anything  might  be  true,  in  this  world.  And 
how  curious  it  was  to  think  of  !  What  a  joke  it  would 
be  if  it  were  true  —  what  a  queer  sort  of  a  sell  it  would 
make  life  into  !  All  your  agonies  and  uncomfortableness 
for  nothing  !  Your  horror  lest  a  bullet  should  get  you 
in  the  stomach  —  and  all  the  while  you  could  get  along 
just  as  well  without  a  stomach  as  with  it ! 

But  no  !  There  was  not  any  more  speculating  about 
that.  When  you  were  dead,  you  were  dead.  Yet  what  a 
strange  dream-creature  that  made  you  out  !  You  were  so 
much  excited  about  yourself,  you  took  so  much  interest  in 
yourself  —  and  all  the  time  you  were  like  the  flame  of  a 
candle,  that  a  puff  of  breeze  might  blow  out !  You  were 
gone  in  the  snapping  of  a  finger  —  like  that !  Cold,  icy 
thoughts  were  those  —  you  grew  suddenly  frightened,  and 
crept  into  the  circle  of  the  fire-light,  where  there  were 


THE  BATTLE  387 

human  voices,  living  and  warm.  You  put  your  arms 
about  some  one,  in  a  sudden  access  of  friendliness.  How 
kind  and  tender  we  ought  to  be  to  our  fellow-victims  of 
this  strange  malady  of  life  !  And  the  poor  rebels,  too  — 
they  were  in  the  same  fix  !  Curious  that  we  had  nothing 
better  to  do  in  the  world  than  to  go  shooting  at  them,  and 
they  at  us  ! 

—  After  a  while  you  dozed  off  to  sleep.  But  scarcely 
had  you  closed  your  eyes,  as  it  seemed,  before  somebody 
touched  you,  and  you  heard  a  muttered  word  or  two,  and 
sat  up  with  a  start,  and  rubbed  your  eyes.  The  camp 
was  flooded  with  moonlight,  and  men  were  hurrying  here 
and  there,  rolling  up  their  blankets,  toasting  a  bit  of  pork 
before  the  fire,  or  warming  some  coffee  in  a  tin  cup,  and 
stuffing  "  hard-tack  "  down  their  throats.  Far  off  a  horse 
neighed,  and  everything  seemed  strange  and  wild. 

The  word  was  given,  and  the  regiment  fell  into  line. 
In  columns  of  fours  it  swung  out  into  the  road,  and  the 
night  march  began.  How  men's  hearts  thumped  with 
excitement,  how  they  wondered  what  was  going  forward  ! 
Ahead  and  behind,  the  road  was  crowded  with  men  —  the 
whole  army  was  astir,  one  could  hear  its  tramp  and  the 
murmur  of  its  thousands  of  voices.  But  not  a  drum,  not 
a  trumpet-call  —  scarcely  a  cry.  Was  it  to  be  a  night 
attack  ? 

Nobody  could  say.  It  soon  became  apparent,  however, 
that  if  that  were  the  plan,  there  was  going  to  be  a  failure. 
The  march  was  a  thing  to  make  any  nervous  man  crazy. 
They  would  go  half  a  mile,  stumbling  on  each  other's 
heels,  and  then  they  would  stand  still  for  half  an  hour. 
Then  another  half  a  mile  —  and  perhaps  a  halt  of  an 
hour  !  They  fidgeted  about  with  impatience  ;  they  stood 
up,  and  sat  down,  by  turns.  They  swore,  and  abused 
the  administration.  What  sort  of  an  army  was  this,  any- 
how, that  could  not  even  march  ?  Wasn't  there  any  road 
ahead  there  ? 

They  passed  through  the  village  of  Centreville,  and  into 
the  Warrenton  pike.  And  there  the  press  was  greater  than 


388  MANASSAS 

ever  —  the  way  was  hopelessly  blocked.  The  precious 
hours  fled  b}",  and  no  one  did  anything.  The  staff-officers 
had  lost  their  heads,  and  kept  galloping  back  and  forth  on 
the  road,  just  for  spite,  it  seemed.  They  ordered  the  men 
out  of  their  way,  and  the  men  ordered  them  to  hell  for 
their  pains. 

So  it  went  on,  —  until  at  last  the  regiment  came  to  a 
little  road,  a  mere  bridle-path,  that  turned  off  to  the  right, 
into  the  forest.  They  went  into  this.  What  could  that 
mean  —  away  off  to  the  northwest,  directly  away  from  the 
enemy  !  They  went  on  and  on,  for  hours,  stumbling  over 
the  ruts,  and  coming  to  a  halt  again,  then  being  ordered 
on  and  stumbling  some  more.  The  sky  began  to  redden 
behind  them,  and  the  sun  rose,  and  still  they  plodded  on 
in  this  forest  road.  It  was  dry,  and  their  marching  stirred 
up  the  dust,  until  they  could  scarcely  see  for  it ;  it  rose  in 
clouds  above  the  tree-tops.  It  got  into  their  eyes  and 
their  mouths  and  their  hair  —  when  their  throats  became 
dry  and  they  swallowed  they  found  their  teeth  full  of 
grit.  Very  soon,  of  course,  they  emptied  their  canteens  ; 
and  then  there  was  no  more  water  to  be  had  —  their 
throats  began  to  burn  and  crack,  their  tongues  hung  out 
and  they  panted  like  dogs.  Some  of  them,  at  the  halts, 
lay  down  and  drank  the  deadly  brown-and-yellow  water 
of  the  forest  pools. 

An  hour  or  two  after  sunrise  they  began  to  hear  artillery, 
far  away  on  their  left.  They  listened  wonderingly  —  they 
were  marching  straight  away  from  it !  Presumably  they 
were  engaged  in  some  sort  of  a  flank  movement  ;  but 
then,  the  road  ought  to  begin  to  turn,  and  instead  it  went 
straight  on  and  on  !  And  they  ought  to  make  haste  — 
but  the  column  seemed  to  halt  more  often  than  ever. 
They  were  walled  up  in  a  dense  pine  forest  and  they  could 
not  see  a  thing  —  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  trust  to 
their  commanders  and  plod  on,  the  while  the  sounds  of 
battle  raged  louder  and  faster. 

Finally  they  heard  shouts  behind  them,  and  a  staff  of 
officers  galloped  by.  One  of  them,  a  fine,  imposing-look- 
ing man,  they  recognized  as  McDowell ;  he  had  left  his 


•      THE   BATTLE  389 

sick-bed  —  perhaps  he  had  gone  to  hurry  things  up  in 
front  there  ! 

The  march  grew  faster  ;  but  also  the  sun  rose  and  it 
grew  hotter.  Men  gasped  and  choked,  and  some  began  to 
fall  out.  They  still  heard  a  battle  raging,  but  they  no 
longer  cared  about  it  —  what  did  people  bring  them  out 
on  a  mad  errand  like  this  for  if  they  wanted  them  to 
fight  ?  They  could  not  fight  until  to-morrow  now,  —  they 
were  nearly  dead.  But  then  on  top  of  it  came  the  com- 
mand, "  Double  quick  !  "  and  they  started  at  a  trot,  their 
equipments  jangling  and  shaking  about  them  —  you  would 
have  thought  it  was  cavalry  coming.  One  gazed  at  the 
heels  of  the  line  in  front  of  him,  until  his  head  reeled  — 
he  had  to  do  that,  while  running,  to  keep  from  stumbling 
in  the  ruts  and  hillocks  of  the  road.  Some  staggered  to 
one  side  and  fell  down,  unable  to  move. 

The  rest  went  on,  for  hours.  The  battle  had  broken 
out  directly  to  their  left.  The  ground  shook  with  the 
cannonade,  and  the  musketry  fire  was  incessant.  A 
breeze  sprang  up,  and  they  began  to  get  the  scent  of  the 
powder  smoke.  God,  would  that  road  never  come  to  an 
end  !  It  was  now  afternoon  —  they  had  been  marching 
nearly  twelve  hours. 

The  music  of  the  battle  took  hold  of  them,  however,  in 
spite  of  their  exhaustion,  and  the  pace  grew  quicker. 
The  road  was  beginning  to  turn  now,  and  was  evidently 
going  to  lead  them  somewhere.  Then  suddenly  they 
began  to  see  the  end  of  the  woods  —  there  was  open 
ground  in  front,  and  they  broke  into  a  run.  Before  them 
was  a  slope  and  a  deep  hollow,  into  which  they  darted, 
gasping,  "  Water  !  " 

It  was  that  little  stream,  "  Bull  Run,"  of  which  they 
had  heard.  They  lay  down  and  drank  from  it  like  thirsty 
dogs,  they  bathed  their  arms  and  heads  in  it  —  it  was 
hard  to  make  them  get  up  and  make  room  for  others. 
But  there  was  no  time  to  waste  —  the  battle  was  raging. 
Staff-officers  galloped  up,  shouting  orders. 

Beyond  the  stream  there  was  a  slope,  and  at  the  top  a 
little  brick  church  ;  they  toiled  towards  it,  and  as  they 


390  MANASSAS 

came  out  on  the  level  ground  they  could  see  the  dull  gray 
cloud  of  smoke,  beneath  which  the  fight  raged,  some  two 
or  three  miles  away.  The  road  turned  sharply  here,  and 
went  towards  it.  Other  regiments  were  in  sight  upon  it, 
just  ahead,  and  they  followed  at  a  run,  forgetting  every- 
thing in  their  excitement. 

It  was  a  real  battle,  there  was  no  mistake  ;  it  was  a 
victory,  too  —  the  fighting  was  a  mile  or  two  ahead,  and 
yet  it  had  once  been  where  they  were  !  Here  and  there 
over  the  fields  they  could  see  the  debris  of  the  conflict  — 
dead  men  and  horses,  broken-down  artillery  caissons  ;  and 
the  ground  was  tramped  up  where  the  army  had  moved. 
They  were  driving  them  back  —  they  were  giving  it  to 
them  !  The  regiment  surged  on  with  a  cheer. 

But  some  of  the  things  you  saw  here  were  far  from 
glorious.  Wounded  men  were  coming  down  the  road, 
some  of  them  with  their  heads  bound  up,  some  of  them 
ashen-gray  and  staggering.  And  then  suddenly  —  under- 
neath a  tree  —  God,  what  a  sight  was  that  !  The  hospital 
corps  had  taken  its  stand  here,  and  raised  its  flag  ;  men 
were  lying  stretched  out  in  rows  —  and  right  in  the  road- 
side was  one  upon  his  back,  with  a  surgeon  bending  over 
him.  The  man's  face  was  upturned,  white  as  a  sheet,  and 
savagely  distorted.  He  was  clutching  his  sword  in  one 
hand,  and  the  cords  stood  out  upon  the  hand.  The 
surgeon  had  sliced  away  the  man's  trousers,  and  he  was 
mechanically  sawing  away  at  his  leg.  You  heard  the  saw 
rasp  at  the  bone  —  ugh!  Jack  was  marching  at  his 
cousin's  side,  and  Allan  felt  him  clutch  him  suddenly  by 
the  arm.  He  shot  a  swift  glance  at  Jack  —  the  young 
lieutenant  was  white,  and  his  hands  shook. 

The  ground  over  which  they  were  advancing  was  for 
the  most  part  waste  farm  land,  full  of  stumps  and  broken 
up  with  thickets  and  patches  of  woods.  One  could  not 
see  the  fighting  —  it  was  on  ahead,  upon  still  higher  land ; 
but  the  din  of  it  rose  louder  and  louder,  and  here  and 
there  they  saw  stray  signs  of  it  —  a  terrified  horse  gallop- 
ing away,  some  men  retreating,  an  orderly  riding  a  foam- 
flecked  steed.  Upon  a  little  knoll  stood  a  group  of  men, 


THE   BATTLE  391 

one  with  a  red-and- white  signal  flag,  which  he  was  waving 
frantically  ;  the  enemy  seemed  to  have  sight  of  this  flag, 
for  now  and  then  came  a  shell,  bursting  near  it  with  a 
rain  of  fire  and  a  hovering  ring  of  smoke.  The  flag 
waved  on,  heeding  nothing.  Sometimes  one  saw  in  the 
open  fields  little  fountains  of  dirt  leap  up,  as  if  something 
had  hit  there  ;  and  several  times  cannon-balls  came  rolling 
over  the  ground  —  balls  nearly  spent  and  suggestive  of 
tenpins.  One  came  across  the  road  and  the  men  dodged 
out  of  the  way  of  it,  skipping  and  laughing  ;  one  fellow 
made  bold  to  catch  it,  short-stop  fashion,  and  it  tumbled 
him  right  into  the  ditch,  head  over  heels,  and  went  on 
with  speed  apparently  undiminished.  The  man  lay  grunt- 
ing, but  nobody  stopped  to  help  him.  It  was  his  own 
fault. 

There  came  orders,  sharp  and  stirring.  "  By  head  of 
column,  take  wheeling  distance.  First  company  forward. 
Guide  left.  Quick  —  March  !  "  They  saw  that  the  regi- 
ment in  front  was  deploying  ;  they  watched  it  spreading 
out,  in  a  long  double  line,  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in 
length.  Somewhere  in  front  a  bugle  sounded,  and  the  line 
started,  sweeping  forward,  wavering  here  and  there  and 
breaking  at  obstructions,  but  closing  up  again  and  moving 
on.  It  was  a  pretty  sight  —  the  men  cheered,  and  the 
flags  fluttered  in  front,  and  behind  ran  the  officers,  waving 
their  swords  and  shouting. 

Then  came  the  turn  of  the  Fifth.  Down  the  column 
ran  the  order  :  "  To  the  left  into  line  of  battle.  By 
the  rear  of  column,  left  into  line,  wheel.  Double-quick  — 
March  !  "  —  and  they  swung  off  at  a  run.  How  handsomely 
they  executed  the  manoeuvre  —  without  an  instant's 
delay  or  confusion  —  like  machinery!  Discipline  was 
something,  after  all,  and  their  bosoms  swelled  with  pride. 
Then,  cheering  like  mad,  they  went  on.  There  was  a 
wooded  hollow  in  front  of  them,  in  which  ran  a  little 
"  branch,"  a  tributary  of  Bull  Run  ;  they  crossed  it,  leap- 
ing over  on  the  stones,  or  splashing  through  the  water  — 
and  then  up  the  far  slope  at  a  dash  !  The  battle  was  just 
ahead  there  —  and  how  the  thunder  music  of  it  throbbed 


392  MANASSAS 

in  them,  how  madly  their  hearts  beat  with  it  !  Here  were 
dead  men  scattered  over  the  ground,  and  shells  came 
crashing  through  the  trees,  splitting  the  ear  with  their 
din  —  but  who  cared  for  things  like  that?  Over  another 
field  they  sped  —  ahead  of  them  were  bodies  of  troops 
moving,  reserves  waiting,  officers  galloping.  Then  sud- 
denly they  burst  through  a  thicket,  and  out  upon  the 
Warrenton  pike,  the  same  road  they  had  left  in  the  early 
hours  of  the  morning,  over  on  the  other  side  of  Bull  Run. 

They  were  halted  here,  and  ordered  to  lie  down.  Be- 
fore them  was  another  sudden  rise  in  the  land,  and  upon 
the  plateau  at  the  top  —  the  battle  !  Still  they  could  see 
nothing,  but  they  heard  the  shouts  and  cries  of  the  com- 
batants, the  rattle  of  the  musketry  far  and  near,  and  the 
roar  of  the  big  guns  in  the  distance.  The  air  here  was 
hazy  with  the  smoke,  and  choking  to  the  breath  ;  one 
heard  strange  whirring  noises  above  his  head,  as  if  bees 
were  flying  past  his  ear.  Whenever  there  came  a  volley, 
leaves  and  twigs  and  bits  of  branches  would  fall  from  the 
trees  and  come  sifting  down  upon  one's  head  like  snow- 
flakes.  Lying  so  and  resting,  one  had  a  chance  to  look 
about  him,  and  to  get  the  fever  out  of  his  blood,  and  to 
realize  what  an  unpleasant  sort  of  a  place  he  was  in.  The 
men  hugged  the  ground  closer,  and  hugged  their  muskets, 
and  stared  with  wild  eyes,  breathing  hard  and  fast.  Down 
the  slope  there  came  suddenly  a  young  fellow,  a  mere 
stripling  of  a  lad,  walking  like  one  who  was  drunk.  There 
was  blood  on  him,  and  as  he  went  he  pulled  up  his  shirt 
and  looked  at  himself.  There  was  a  little  red  hole  in  his 
side,  from  which  the  blood  trickled  ;  and  he  felt  of  it,  and 
poked  his  finger  into  it,  to  see  where  it  went  to.  Evidently 
its  location  did  not  suit  him,  for  the  men  heard  him  curs- 
ing like  all  the  fiends,  as  he  went  by  them. 

Somewhere  now  one  heard  the  voice  of  Sergeant  Schlem- 
mer,  rising  above  all  the  uproar,  in  a  kind  of  sing-song 
chant :  "  Take  it  easy  now,  boys,  take  it  easy  !  Don't  get 
rattled  —  when  you  go  up  to  fire,  see  what  you're  firing  at. 
Take  your  time,  and  aim  low.  Don't  be  in  a  hurry  — 
shooting  lots  of  times  don't  count  for  anything  —  you  can't 


THE  BATTLE  393 

scare  them  with  the  noise,  you  have  to  hit  them  with  the 
bullets!  Steady,  now  —  steady!"  And  then  suddenly 
down  the  line  they  saw  the  men  rising  up,  and  heard  the 
word  passed.  They  sprang  to  their  feet,  and,  biting  their 
lips  together,  started  slowly,  in  grim  silence,  up  the  slope. 

Allan  rose  up  also,  but  he  did  not  go  on  with  them. 
During  the  halt  he  had  had  time  to  look  about  him,  and 
to  notice  his  cousin,  whose  post  was  just  behind  the  line. 
When  the  order  came,  Jack  had  risen  halfway  upon  his 
knees  and  there  stayed.  All  the  youth  and  beauty  was 
gone  out  of  Jack's  face  —  he  was  sick-looking,  and  old, 
white  as  a  sheet,  and  his  features  drawn.  Allan  sprang 
to  him. 

Jack  tried  to  speak,  but  his  lips  trembled  so  that  he 
could  not.  "I  —  I  —  "  he  began ;  but  his  eyes  told  the 
story  —  they  were  the  eyes  of  a  hunted  animal.  Allan 
wrapped  his  arm  about  him.  "  Steady,  old  man,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice.  "  Brace  up,  now  !  "  He  darted  a  quick 
glance  about  him.  No  one  had  seen  them,  —  the  regiment 
had  gone  on  and  was  halfway  up  the  ascent. 

Jack  tried  to  speak  again,  but  his  cousin  pressed  him 
tightly  to  him,  and  muttered,  "  Come  on  !  "  Then  as  the 
other  still  hesitated,  he  hissed  the  words,  louder  and  more 
imperative,  "  Come  on ! "  Then  Jack  started,  and  they 
marched  together,  step  by  step,  up  the  hill. 

At  the  top  the  thicket  ended,  and  here  at  the  edge  was 
the  firing  line  ;  other  troops  were  giving  place  to  the  Fifth, 
and  falling  back  to  re-form  —  battle-smitten  men,  some  of 
them  wounded  and  bloody,  all  of  them  powder-stained  and 
wild.  Allan  had  time  for  just  one  glance  ;  across  the 
level  plateau,  on  the  edge  of  another  woods,  was  the 
enemy's  line,  dimly  seen  through  the  haze,  with  men  run- 
ning about,  groups  gathered  where  the  guns  were,  and 
battle-flags  waving  above.  Points  of  fire  shot  out  from 
the  line,  and  the  bullets  hummed  through  the  air,  hit- 
ting the  dust  in  front,  or  burying  themselves  in  the  trees 
in  the  rear.  The  regiment  was  in  the  act  of  kneeling. 
—  "  Ready  !  "  shouted  a  voice.  "  Aim  !  " 

—  And  then  suddenly  from  somewhere  opposite  there 


394  MANASSAS 

burst  out  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  flame,  and  Allan  heard 
at  his  side  a  crushing,  spatting  sound,  and  felt  his  cousin, 
whom  he  still  grasped  with  one  arm,  half  torn  out  of  it. 
Things  smote  him  in  the  face,  cutting  him,  tearing  him, 
blinding  him ;  and  over  his  hands  there  rushed  a  flood  of 
something  hot  and  horrible.  In  a  spasm  of  fright  he 
shook  his  head  free  and  wiped  clear  his  eyes  —  staring. 
Jack  —  great  God,  where  was  Jack  !  Here  was  his  body, 
and  above  it  a  neck-bone  sticking  up,  and  a  jaw  dangling 
in  front  of  it ;  and  out  of  the  middle,  gushing  up  as  from  a 
fountain  —  pumping,  pumping  —  a  jet  of  crimson  blood! 

Allan  reeled,  and  staggered  backwards  with  a  scream  ; 
and  the  body  lunged  forward,  a  stream  of  blood  gushing 
forth  and  slopping  over  his  feet.  The  sky  seemed  to  grow 
black  before  his  eyes  ;  the  trees  danced  and  swayed,  and 
he  clutched  his  hands  over  his  face.  Shudder  after  shud- 
der passed  through  his  frame  —  and  then,  suddenly,  with  a 
choking  cry,  he  turned  arid  fled  away. 

He  dashed  down  the  slope  again,  blind,  frenzied,  his 
hands  stretched  out  before  him.  The  battle  thundered  in 
his  ears,  and  universal  destruction  crashed  in  his  soul ;  he 
rushed  through  the  woods  like  a  spirit  damned,  fleeing 
from  the  memory  of  that  ghastly  sight  — that  pumping  jet 
of  blood.  His  senses  reeled,  he  was  dazed,  stunned  ;  when 
he  stumbled  and  fell  he  lay  upon  the  ground,  sobbing, 
choking.  Ah  God,  it  was  too  monstrous  —  it  could  not 
be  true  !  He  seemed  to  see  the  red  fountain  before  him 
still,  to  feel  it  gushing  over  his  hands  and  feet.  Blood, 
blood  —  he  was  a  mass  of  it !  His  face  was  plastered  with 
blood  and  brains,  he  could  comb  it  by  handfuls  out  of  his 
hair.  There  was  blood  in  his  eyes,  in  his  nostrils,  in  his 
mouth !  He  reeked  with  it,  he  was  slimy  and  loathsome 
with  it  — the  scent  of  it,  steaming  hot,  made  him  suddenly 
ill,  convulsed  his  stomach  so  that  it  seemed  to  leap  up. 
He  began  to  vomit,  sobbing  frantically  all  the  while. 

He  got  up  again,  and  went  staggering  on.  Grief  min- 
gled with  his  horror  —  he  wrung  his  hands  and  cried  aloud 
—  "  Jack,  Jack  1 "  Ah,  how  pitiful  it  was  —  he  saw  that 


THE   BATTLE  395 

face  of  pain  and  fear,  white  and  haggard,  down  there  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill.  Jack  had  not  wanted  to  come  —  had 
he  foreseen  what  was  going  to  happen  to  him  ?  So  beau- 
tiful he  was  —  so  tender-hearted  and  kind !  And  now  — 
now  he  was  gone  !  He  was  dead !  And  again  Allan  saw 
that  hellish  sight  —  that  bright  red  neck-bone  sticking  up, 
and  the  pumping  jet  of  blood  !  Again  the  shuddering 
seized  him,  and  he  buried  his  face,  and  wept  aloud. 

He  was  standing  still ;  and  suddenly  he  lifted  his  head, 
and  flung  up  his  arms,  his  hands  clenched,  his  whole  soul 
one  blaze  of  rage.  He  screamed  aloud  with  it,  in  frenzy  ; 
he  cursed  —  he  knew  not  what  he  cursed:  the  world 
where  such  things  were  done  —  the  God  that  had  allowed 
it  —  the  thing  itself,  that  was  hideous,  demoniac,  black  as 
hell.  He  cursed  the  thing  called  life  —  a  fearful  hatred 
of  it  seized  him,  a  black  revolt  of  it  surged  up  in  him. 
He  flung  out  his  hands  before  his  face,  to  drive  back  the 
fury  from  his  presence  ;  he  started  to  run  once  more, 
blindly,  through  the  forest. 

How  far  he  went  he  had  no  idea,  nor  how  long  a  time 
passed,  nor  what  was  going  on  about  him.  His  hands 
were  on  the  white-hot  iron  of  things  —  he  was  wandering 
through  the  caverns  where  the  furies  hide.  The  sounds 
of  the  battle  were  still  in  his  ears,  but  turned  to  sounds 
of  his  soul  ;  the  palaces  of  joy  and  hope  within  him  were 
toppling,  crashing,  down  into  abysmal  depths.  He  lay 
on  the  ground  in  a  kind  of  trance  —  he  sat  up  again  only 
when  a  strange  sound  broke  suddenly  in  upon  his  con- 
sciousness. 

That  was  a  kind  of  snort,  close  in  his  ear.  He  stared 
and  saw,  standing  not  far  from  him,  a  big  black  horse. 

The  horse  looked  strange  and  wild,  and  it  fell  in  with 
Allan's  nightmare.  It  might  have  been  one  of  the  crea- 
tures of  his  dreams — the  world  of  fact  and  the  dream- 
world were  blended  in  his  reeling  consciousness,  and  the 
sight  of  all  the  demons  of  hell  dancing  about  the  woods 
would  not  have  startled  him  much.  This  horse  seemed, 
somehow,  part  of  his  horror,  seemed  also  to  have  been 


396  MANASSAS 

smitten  by  the  thunder ;  there  was  a  pleading,  agonized 
look  in  its  eyes  ;  it  understood  all,  it  seemed  to  say  — • 
that  it  was  dumb  was  only  one  wrong  the  more.  Allan 
gazed  at  it  more  closely  ;  what  was  the  matter  ?  He 
could  not  make  out  —  but  then  his  eye  was  caught  by  a 
long,  red  object  which  trailed  on  the  ground  behind  the 
creature.  He  rose  up  to  look  —  and  suddenly  the  horse 
turned,  and  he  saw  a  great,  gaping  hole  in  its  side. 
Something  had  ripped  it  under  the  belly,  and  its  entrails 
were  starting  out.  That  long  red  thing  was  a  piece  of 
them,  and  when  the  horse  walked  he  trod  upon  it  and 
pulled  it  out  further  yet.  Allan  gave  a  cry,  and  the 
horse  a  frightened  leap,  the  entrails  bulging  out  still 
more.  The  horse  whinnied  ;  perhaps  it  hurt. 

The  man  turned  away,  and  stared  round  him.  The 
woods  here  seemed  to  have  been  shattered  by  a  tempest ; 
branches  strewed  the  ground,  and  some  of  the  trunks  were 
riven  as  if  the  lightning  had  struck  them.  And  the  tem- 
pest was  still  raging,  it  seemed  ;  shot  and  shell  plunged 
through  the  place,  crashing  through  the  trees,  ricochetting 
from  one  to  another;  shells  burst  here  and  there,  with 
explosions  that  made  the  ears  ring. 

Then  Allan  noticed  that  there  were  men  in  these  woods 
also.  Some  lay  dead  upon  the  earth ;  some  darted  here 
and  there,  seeking  shelter.  They  seemed  all  to  be  quite 
wild  with  fright  —  they  ran  blindly,  their  eyes  starting 
out  of  their  heads.  They  bounded  about  like  demon 
creatures,  it  seemed  to  Allan  —  one  went  close  by  him, 
his  hands  uplifted  and  his  mouth  and  eyes  wide  open 
with  terror.  He  was  clad  in  the  uniform  of  the  New 
York  Fire  Zouaves,  the  regiment  of  the  martyred  Ells- 
worth ;  he  had  his  musket  still  in  his  hand  —  he  did  not 
seem  to  have  sense  enough  to  drop  it.  He  was  panting 
hoarsely  as  he  ran  —  and  then  suddenly,  espying  a  great 
oak  tree,  he  turned  towards  that,  and  took  shelter  behind 
it,  leaning  against  it,  breathing  hard.  All  at  once,  as  in 
a  lightning  flash,  something  smote  the  tree ;  there  was  a 
deafening  crash,  and  the  man  was  hurled  forward  and 
flung  upon  the  earth. 


THE   BATTLE  397 

Allan  stared ;  the  man  never  moved.  He  did  not  know 
what  to  make  of  it —  what  was  the  matter  with  the  fellow? 
He  went  up  to  the  tree,  fascinated.  A  cannon-ball  was 
buried  in  it,  a  cannon-ball  as  big  as  his  two  fists,  and  it 
was  half  a  finger  deep  in  the  wood.  But  the  man  !  The 
man  had  been  on  the  other  side  of  the  tree,  and  the  ball 
had  not  gone  through  at  all.  Allan  went  over  to  him  — 
he  was  dead  as  a  stone.  He  was  a  big,  burly  man,  with  a 
black  beard.  The  wild  look  was  still  upon  his  face. 

Allan  went  on,  dazed.  Everything  in  these  woods 
seemed  panic  fear  —  and  suddenly  fear  seized  him.  Why 
should  he  stay  in  the  midst  of  this  inferno  —  he  would  get 
away  from  it  !  He  was  too  confused  to  know  which  way 
to  go,  but  he  began  to  run  again,  aimlessly,  crazily. 

The  woods  thinned  away,  and  he  staggered  up  a  slope, 
thick  with  bushes.  The  crash  and  rattle  of  the  conflict 
seemed  to  burst  on  his  ears  louder  than  ever  here  —  he 
turned  and  ran  along  the  ridge,  through  more  thickets 
and  bushes.  Then  there  was  a  corn-field,  a  pitiful,  strag- 
gling corn-field,  such  as  grows  in  Virginia.  It  seemed  to 
have  been  hit  by  a  hailstorm  —  its  stalks  were  rent  and 
pierced  with  holes.  Something  was  cutting  more  holes  in 
them  also  —  there  was  a  constant  sound  about  one  —  zip, 
zip  —  like  the  tearing  of  paper.  Also  there  was  a  buzz- 
ing, as  of  a  swarm  of  bees  —  it  was  the  bullets  again, 
Allan  knew,  and  once  more  he  broke  into  a  run.  He  sped 
through  the  corn-field,  and  then  through  a  little  garden- 
patch,  and  so,  in  his  blind  haste,  brought  up  against  a 
fence  of  palings.  He  stared  around ;  right  before  his 
eyes  there  stood  a  little  farm-house. 

It  was  a  poor,  forlorn-looking  place,  unpainted,  with 
two  or  three  tumble-down  outhouses  around  it.  There 
were  holes  in  the  house  here  and  there  ;  and  as  Allan 
looked  he  saw  bits  of  chips  fly  off  from  it.  A  second  or 
two  later  the  top  of  its  brick  chimney  suddenly  flew  into 
pieces,  a  fragment  of  it  flying  all  the  way  to  his  feet. 
More  bricks  crashed  down  upon  the  roof,  and  Allan  heard 
a  shrill  scream  from  inside. 

It   was   a  woman's   voice,  her   cries   rising,  one   after 

26 


398  MANASSAS 

another,  louder  and  louder.  Allan  listened  a  moment, 
and  then  ran  toward  the  house ;  he  pushed  open  the  door, 
and  stared  in. 

It  was  the  home  of  a  "poor  white."  In  one  corner 
was  a  pallet,  and  on  it  lay,  or  rather  sat,  an  old  woman. 
She  was. in  a  gown,  and  evidently  bed-ridden;  she  was 
wrinkled  and  ugly,  and  her  gray  hair  was  loose  about 
her  shoulders.  It  was  she  who  made  the  noise  —  her 
hands  were  flung  up  into  the  air,  and  she  was  shrieking 
hysterically.  A  shot  tore  through  the  wall  of  the  house, 
smashing  to  atoms  a  jug  which  stood  upon  the  table  at 
one  side ;  and  the  old  woman  buried  her  head  in  the 
pillows  of  the  bed,  wallowing  and  tossing  about,  con- 
vulsed and  frenzied  with  terror.  Suddenly  she  started 
up  again  and  raised  her  arms  ;  an  instant  later  she  seemed 
to  leap  straight  up  into  the  air,  her  face  transfixed.  She 

fave  a  little  gulp,  and  swayed,  and  then  tumbled  head 
rst  upon  the  floor,  where  she  lay,  kicking  feebly.    Allan, 
staring,  saw  a  little  spurt  of  blood  running  out  of  her  side, 
and  trickling  along  her  gown. 

Then  an  inside  door  of  the  room  was  flung  open  and  a 
young  girl  dashed  in.  She  saw  the  old.  woman,  and  cried 
out  in  fright,  rushing  to  her,  flinging  herself  upon  her 
and  clasping  her  arms  about  her,  weeping  frantically. 
At  the  same  time  a  man  plunged  down  the  stairway  from 
the  upper  floor  of  the  house  —  a  man  with  wild,  wide-open 
eyes  of  fright.  He  darted  one  glance  at  the  scene  in  the 
room,  and  then  bounded  towards  the  door;  he  did  not 
seem  to  notice  Allan,  but  dashed  out.  As  he  emerged  he 
drew  his  hat  over  his  eyes  and  crouched,  bending  to  one 
side  like  a  man  in  a  storm  of  rain.  Allan  saw  him  leap 
the  fence  and  disappear,  and  then  he  turned  to  look  into 
the  room  again,  where  the  young  girl  was  still  wail- 
ing, screaming,  in  louder  and  louder  tones,  "  Mother ! 
Mother  1  " 

Then  suddenly  Allan  noticed  a  curious  sight.  Near 
the  fireplace  of  the  little  room  were  two  kittens,  —  tiny 
kittens,  not  over  six  weeks  old,  one  of  them  gray,  and  the 
other  mottled,  black  and  white.  And  they  were  playing 


THE   BATTLE  399 

together ;  one  would  lie  on  its  back  and  pat  the  other  with 
its  paws,  and  then  the  other  would  bite  it,  and  they  would 
roll  over  and  over.  Everything  else  seemed  to  fade 
into  nothingness,  and  Allan  found  himself  watching  the 
kittens.  They  were  so  happy  and  so  busy !  They  were 
such  pretty  little  kittens! 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  bullets  continued  to  spat  against  the  house;  one 
side  of  it  was  almost  as  full  of  holes  as  a  pepper-box. 
This  Allan  noticed  wonderingly,  and  in  a  dazed  way  recol- 
lected that  he  had  been  trying  to  get  away  from  them. 
He  turned  to  run  once  more ;  but  at  the  same  instant  a 
man  dashed  past  him  into  the  room,  and  he  stopped  to 
watch  him. 

The  man  wore  a  uniform,  and  had  a  musket  in  his  hand  ; 
his  face  was  grimed  and  sooty,  and  there  were  flecks  of 
blood  on  it;  his  breathing  was  a  kind  of  snarl,  like  an 
angry  beast's.  The  man  ran  to  the  window  and  crouched 
there  —  he  thrust  out  his  musket,  took  aim,  and  fired. 

Two  more  men  entered  the  room,  then  half  a  dozen, 
trampling  and  crowding.  They  seemed  to  be  a  party  of 
demons  —  the  very  sight  of  their  faces  filled  one  with  fear. 
They  were  so  intent  upon  their  task  that  they  appeared 
not  to  see  Allan  at  all ;  when  they  spoke  to  each  other  it 
was  in  quick,  gruff  monosyllables.  They  posted  them- 
selves here  and  there,  at  the  windows,  in  the  doorways  — 
one  or  two  bounded  upstairs,  and  still  another  thrust  his 
musket  through  a  hole  in  the  side  of  the  house.  The 
place  began  to  blaze  with  musketry,  and  a  blue  haze  filled 
the  room  ;  through  it  all  Allan  stared  on  and  on  —  he  had 
all  at  once  come  to  realize  that  these  men  wore  the  uni- 
form of  the  "  Cambridge  Tigers  "  ! 

Half  a  dozen  more  flashed  past  the  doorway,  running 
low  —  flung  themselves  down  on  the  ground  just  behind 
the  garden  fence,  and  began  to  fire  from  there.  Still 
others  of  them  were  out  in  the  corn-field.  A  cannon-ball 
crashed  through  the  chimney,  and  through  the  roof  of  the 
house,  scattering  splinters  about  the  room ;  then  a  moment 
later  one  of  the  men  at  the  windows  gave  a  grunt  and 

400 


THE   BATTLE  401 

tottered  backwards.  He  began  to  roll  about  on  the  floor, 
pressing  his  hands  upon  his  abdomen.  No  one  looked  at 
him,  save  Allan. 

Three  more  soldiers  darted 'through  the  doorway.  One 
of  them  was  a  short,  stocky  man,  with  a  bush  of  yellow 
hair,  smeared  with  blood.  He  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
and  one  sleeve  was  torn  off  and  bound  round  his  arm, 
which  was  also  bloody.  He  carried  a  musket  in  one 
hand,  and  his  face  was  wild  and  ferocious.  He  fired  once 
out  of  the  window,  and  then  turned  to  shout  to  the  men. 
"  Give  it  to  them,  boys  !  "  he  roared,  —  "  give  them 
hell,  there ! "  Allan  recognized  the  voice,  though  he 
had  not  recognized  the  face.  This  man  was  Sergeant 
Schlemmer. 

The  sergeant  ran  to  the  doorway  again  ;  he  was  calling  to 
some  one  in  the  rear.  "  Come  up  here  !  come  up  here  !  " 
he  yelled.  His  voice  rang  like  a  bugle-blast,  above  all 
the  din ;  and  he  waved  his  musket,  pointing.  "  Post 
yourselves  by  that  hedge,  there !  "  he  cried.  "  They're 
trying  to  get  up  their  guns  —  shoot  at  the  gunners  —  pick 
them  off  now,  and  be  lively !  "  There  was  a  cheer  or  two, 
and  then  a  volley  of  shots.  Allan  wondered  somewhat ; 
Sergeant  Schlemmer  seemed  suddenly  to  be  in  command 
of  the  company. 

And  then,  turning  into  the  room  again,  his  eye  fell  on 
Allan.  "  Why  aren't  you  fighting?  "  he  yelled. 

"Fighting?"  Allan  echoed,  feebly. 

"  Fighting !  "  roared  the  sergeant.  And  he  rushed 
towards  him,  his  voice  thundering  in  his  ear.  "  What's 
the  matter  with  you?  What's  the  matter  with  you?"  he 
cried. 

He  picked  up  the  musket  which  had  been  dropped  by 
the  wounded  man  —  who  was  still  wallowing.  "  Here  !  " 
he  said ;  "  take  this,  and  go  to  the  window,  and  shoot !  " 

Allan  took  it  mechanically,  and  went  to  the  window. 
He  put  the  gun  to  his  shoulder  and  fired,  —  or  tried  to. 
It  did  not  go  off.  He  raised  the  hammer  and  fired  again ; 
again  it  did  not  go  off.  He  repeated  the  process  half  a 
dozen  times  —  he  was  so  dazed  he  did  not  know  what  was 

2D 


402  MANASSAS 

the  matter  with  it.  Finally  it  dawned  upon  him  that  he 
had  to  load  the  gun  first.  He  saw  the  man  next  to  him 
taking  a  cartridge  out  of  his  belt ;  he  put  his  hand  to  the 
place — yes,  he  had  cartridges  also.  He  pulled  one  out 
and  stuffed  it  into  the  gun.  It  would  not  go  in.  He 
poked  and  pushed  —  what  was  the  matter  with  it  ?  Then 
he  saw  a  man  biting  off  the  end  of  one.  Ah,  yes,  sure 
enough  !  Allan  did  likewise. 

The  cartridge  went  in  then,  and  he  raised  the  gun  and 
blazed  away.  Now  he  knew  what  to  do  —  he  had  the  run 
of  it,  and  blindly,  in  a  frenzy,  he  began  tearing  off  the 
cartridges  with  his  teeth,  stuffing  them  into  the  gun  and 
firing  them.  He  did  this  five  or  six  times,  before  suddenly 
he  felt  himself  seized  by  the  collar  of  his  coat  and  jerked 
backward  with  a  force  that  half  choked  him.  "  What's 
the  matter  with  you,  you  fool?"  yelled  a  voice  in  his 
ear. 

It  was  Sergeant  Schlemmer  again ;  and  his  breath  was 
like  a  blast  of  fire.  "  Matter  !  "  Allan  gasped. 

"  Jackass  !  "  screamed  the  sergeant.  "  Where's  your 
head  ?  You're  firing  up  into  the  sky  !  " 

The  other  echoed  the  words  again,  and  the  man  began 
to  shake  him,  as  a  terrier  shakes  a  rat.  "  I  know  what's 
the  matter  with  you  !  "  he  thundered.  "  I  saw  you  run 
away  once,  you  hound  —  you  want  to  run  away  again, 
don't  you  ?  What  are  you  standing  there  gawking  at  me 
for  —  where  are  your  senses ?  Coward!  Coward!  Tau- 
genichts  !  "  —  and  then  the  furious  sergeant  exploded  into 
a  volley  of  curses,  German  curses  and  English  curses, 
his  breath  hot  in  Allan's  face. 

And  the  words  —  they  cut  and  stabbed  into  Allan  like 
knives  ;  they  went  into  the  deeps  of  him,  where  his  man- 
hood lay  smothered.  And  it  started  up,  with  a  bound 
and  a  furious  cry.  "  You  lie,  you  lie  !  "  he  screamed  back. 
"  I'm  no  coward  !  I'm  as  good  a  man  as  you  !  " 

"  And  why  don't  you  show  it,  then  ? "  asked  the  ser- 
geant. "  Why  don't  you  fight?  " 

"  I  will  fight !  "  Allan  panted,  and  he  gripped  his  gun 
again.  "  Show  me  I  " 


THE   BATTLE  403 

And  the  sergeant  pointed  out  of  the  window.  "  There's 
the  enemy,"  he  said.  "  Fight !  " 

Everything  was  suddenly  grown  clear  as  day  before 
Allan's  eyes  ;  there  at  the  other  side  of  the  clearing,  close 
upon  the  edge  of  a  thicket,  was  a  thin,  irregular  line  of 
men  in  uniform,  some  standing,  some  kneeling  ;  clouds  of 
smoke  floated  above  them,  and  points  of  fire  flashed  in 
front  of  them.  Some  were  running  here  and  there  —  and 
across  the  plain  in  front  dashed  horses  with  cannon  trailing 
behind,  also  men  cheering.  They  were  swinging  the  guns 
into  position,  and  limbering  up. 

The  fiends  still  tore  at  Allan's  heartstrings ;  but  he 
fought  with  them  now,  his  soul  rose  up,  towering  and 
furious.  It  was  an  effort  that  was  agony,  the  pain  of  it 
made  him  sick  ;  but  here  in  the  midst  of  this  nightmare 
was  a  truth,  a  duty,  and  he  clung  to  it  like  mad.  He  had 
cried  out  at  the  horrors  of  this  reeking  field  of  slaughter 

—  but  see,  over  there  were  the  men  who  had  caused  it ! 
The  men  who  had  taken  up  arms  against  their  country, 
who  had  come  out  to  kill  and  destroy.     Was  it  not  they 
with  their  bullets  and  their  shells  that  had  murdered  Jack 

—  that  were  trying  now  to  murder  others  ?     Let  them  be 
put  down — then  there  would  be  an  end  of  it. 

He  steadied  himself,  peering  through  the  rifts  in  the 
smoke  :  there  —  that  group  about  the  cannon !  He  took 
aim  and  fired,  and  then  tore  off  another  cartridge,  and 
reloaded,  still  keeping  his  eyes  upon  the  spot.  So  at  last 
he  got  down  to  work,  grimly,  savagely.  Black  hatred 
boiled  up  in  his  soul  —  ah,  to  get  his  hands  upon  them 
over  there,  the  ruffians !  To  shoot  them  seemed  too  little 
to  do.  Here  and  there  he  saw  their  battle-flags  waving  — 
one  a  South  Carolina  flag,  and  lightning  flashes  of  rage 
blazed  forth  in  him  at  the  sight. 

He  was  suffocating  with  the  heat  of  his  labor  ;  he 
dropped  his  musket  and  tore  off  his  coat.  The  sweat  was 
pouring  in  streams  down  his  face,  which  was  smeared  with 
blood  and  grime.  He  wiped  his  hands  upon  his  trousers 

—  they  were  so  slimy  that  they  interfered  with  him  ;  then 
he  seized  the  musket  again  and  went  on.     The  musket 


404  MANASSAS 

was  hot,  and  the  barrel  burned  to  the  touch  ;  also  his  eyes 
burned,  they  seemed  to  be  leaping  out  of  his  head.  His 
ears  rang,  and  now  and  then  he  had  to  grip  his  hands 
tightly  to  steady  his  brain ;  he  was  panting  for  breath, 
choking  with  the  fumes  of  powder.  But  out  there  through 
the  billowing  smoke  he  still  got  glimpses  of  the  enemy's 
line,  that  thundered  and  crackled,  and  he  hung  on  to  the 
work  ;  either  he  would  go  down  or  they  would,  he  swore  it 
by  the  God  that  had  made  him.  He  muttered  aloud  in  his 
fury,  he  cursed  them  like  a  regiment  of  fiends  —  sometimes 
he  yelled  aloud,  though  he  did  not  know  it. 

And  then  suddenly,  outside,  he  heard  cheers,  and  he  saw 
a  line  of  men  sweeping  across  the  corn-field.  What  was 
the  matter  ?  Had  the  enemy  given  way  ?  He  darted  a 
swift  glance  about  him  —  into  the  room  dashed  Sergeant 
Schlemmer.  "  Charge  !  "  he  shouted.  "  Charge  !  " 

The  men  leaped  up,  dashing  out  of  the  door,  climbing 
out  of  the  windows.  "  Line  up  !  "  the  sergeant  was  yell- 
ing, running  here  and  there.  "  Steady  !  Steady  !  Give 
it  to  them  now,  boys — give  them  the  bayonet !  Forward  !  " 

And  away  they  went,  sweeping  down  the  field  like  a 
hurricane.  Where  they  had  come  from  Allan  did  not 
know,  nor  what  had  started  them  ;  but  the  line  ran  as  far 
as  he  could  see  —  and  God,  how  they  went !  He  hardly 
knew  that  he  was  running  —  he  was  lifted  upon  wings, 
he  was  borne  in  the  arms  of  a  tempest ;  he  shouted  till 
his  voice  broke,  and  waved  his  gun  in  the  air  —  he  was  like 
a  devil  in  his  rage.  Blind,  drunken  fury  seethed  in  him, 
a  mad  hideous  lust  of  slaughter  that  swept  him  utterly 
out  of  himself.  His  eyes  were  gloating  on  the  line  ahead, 
that  came  nearer  and  nearer  ;  he  hungered  for  it  like  a 
ravenous  beast. 

Bullets  hummed  in  his  ears  —  what  were  bullets  ?  A 
man  beside  him  gave  a  grunt  and  doubled  up  and  went 
down,  rolling  over  and  over.  But  the  line  went  on  — 
what  was  a  man?  Next  to  Allan  was  an  Irishman,  a 
giant  of  a  creature,  red-headed  and  wild-eyed,  roaring  like 
a  wild  animal  ;  he  and  Allan  ran  neck  and  neck,  panting 


THE   BATTLE  405 

to  be  first.  They  burst  through  the  smoke  —  there  they 
were,  the  enemy  !  Right  ahead  loomed  one  of  their  guns  ; 
and  suddenly  from  out  its  mouth  there  burst  a  volcano  of 
fire —  with  a  crash  like  the  splitting  of  the  skies.  The 
Irishman  beside  Allan  seemed  to  vanish  —  he  flew  into 
pieces,  and  the  blast  of  the  discharge  smote  into  Allan's 
face,  blew  him  backwards,  seemed  to  shatter  his  eardrums. 
There  was  a  roaring  in  his  head,  and  blood  gushed  from 
his  nostrils  —  but  he  shook  himself,  he  flung  himself  free 
from  the  dizziness  ;  with  a  roar  like  an  angry  bull,  stag- 
gering, half-blinded,  he  plunged  into  the  fight. 

The  lines  had  come  together.  Rifles  cracked,  swords 
and  bayonets  gleamed  in  the  sunlight ;  there  were  heard 
the  sounds  of  the  contact,  swift,  sharp,  savage  :  the  thud 
of  muskets  coming  together,  of  steel  clashing  upon  steel, 
and  cries,  groans,  and  yells  of  fury.  Men  were  stabbing, 
slashing,  shooting.  Furious  faces  gleamed  out  at  Allan, 
flashes  of  fire  blazed  into  his  face.  Before  him  was  a  mem- 
ber of  his  company,  leaping  at  one  who  was  pulling  a 
pistol ;  Allan  raised  his  musket  and  fired,  the  man  went 
down  and  out  of  sight."  The  other  sped  on,  Allan  at  his 
heels.  An  officer  rushed  past  them,  slashing  here  and  there 
with  his  sword  ;  the  man  plunged  at  him  and  smote  him 
through  with  the  bayonet,  so  that  Allan  heard  the  thud  of 
the  barrel  as  it  thumped  into  his  stomach  ;  he  doubled  up 
without  a  sound.  At  the  same  instant  some  one  leaped 
upon  the  assailant  with  clubbed  musket  that  crashed  upon 
his  skull.  Allan  flung  himself  upon  this  man,  and  the 
wild  beast  in  him  screamed  out  with  delight  as  he  pounded 
him  down.  The  man's  head  split  open,  but  that  was  not 
enough  for  Allan  —  it  was  all  that  he  could  do  to  keep 
from  leaping  upon  him,  to  tear  him  to  pieces.  But  he 
dashed  on,  raising  his  musket  again.  A  pistol  flashed  in 
front  of  his  face,  and  a  man  with  sword  upraised  appeared 
to  leap  out  of  space  at  him.  Things  seemed  to  reel,  and 
then  suddenly  there  came  a  crash,  and  everything  grew 
black.  He  flung  up  his  hands  and  staggered  about  blindly, 
plunging  on,  striving  to  see,  to  find  his  thoughts  ;  then  at 
last  he  fell  down,  senseless. 


406  MANASSAS 

Bits  of  ideas  and  feelings  were  hovering  before  him  ; 
phantom  thoughts  which  he  could  not  grasp.  There  was 
a  dull  pain,  but  he  could  not  be  sure  if  it  were  he  or  some 
one  else  that  was  feeling  it.  Forms  moved  before  him, 
strange  and  mysterious  things,  bodiless  and  nameless,  but 
terrible,  as  in  a  nightmare.  He  wondered  if  he  were  dead, 
if  these  were  not  the  experiences  of  a  disembodied  state. 
So,  little  by  little,  he  drifted  back  into  consciousness. 

He  opened  his  eyes  feebly.  The  first  thing  he  saw 
was  the  moon.  Then  he  noticed  that  everything  was  still. 
How  strange  it  seemed  —  he  wondered  if  he  had  dreamed 
it.  All  that  uproar  —  the  thunder  of  the  earth  and  sky  ! 
But  then  he  stirred  one  hand,  and  it  touched  something  alive. 
The  thing  gave  a  groan.  No,  he  had  not  dreamed  it. 

But  it  was  over.  He  lay  for  a  long  time,  thinking 
about  the  matter.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  to  wonder 
which  had  won  —  he  did  not  think  of  it  that  way.  His 
thought  was  of  the  strangeness  of  everything  being 
still. 

Then  he  tried  to  move.  He  raised  his  head  an  inch  or  so. 
God,  what  a  pain  !  And  he  sank  back.  His  brain  reeled 
—  the  moon  seemed  to  dance  and  tremble.  He  put  up 
his  hands.  There  was  a  thick  clot  of  blood  on  the  side 
of  his  head.  The  blood  was  cold  on  the  ground  where 
he  lay. 

He  tried  again,  after  a  while,  and  got  up  on  his  elbows. 
Yes,  the  battle  was  over.  Forms  lay  about  him  —  all 
still.  A  broken  cannon  was  not  far  away,  and  beside 
it  a  horse,  with  legs  stretched  out  long  and  stiff.  Some 
ways  off  men  were  moving  about ;  camp-fires  were  blazing 
here  and  there. 

Little  by  little  Allan  experimented,  and  as  his  senses 
returned,  he  managed  to  get  upon  his  knees.  The  man 
beside  him  moaned  again  ;  his  chest  was  going  up  and 
down  like  a  bellows. 

Allan's  head  burned  like  fire,  and  the  raging  thirst  de- 
voured him.  He  suddenly  recollected  his  canteen,  and 
opened  it,  emptying  it  at  a  draught.  It  was  like  wine  to 
him  :  he  felt  that  he  would  be  able  to  move.  He  wanted 


THE   BATTLE  407 

to  move  because  the  stench  of  blood  made  him  ill.  He 
forgot  that  the  blood  was  on  him. 

He  crawled  a  few  feet,  in  a  zigzag  path,  between  forms 
of  men  ;  one  lay  exactly  across  his  way,  and  he  stopped 
and  looked  at  it.  The  time  was  just  after  sundown,  and 
it  would  have  been  twilight  but  for  the  moon :  between 
the  two  there  was  light  enough  for  one  to  see  plainly  — 
and  Allan  gave  a  sudden  start  and  a  cry.  The  man  lying 
there  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  one  sleeve  was  torn  off 
and  bound  round  his  arm.  He  had  light  yellow  hair  — 
it  was  Sergeant  Schlemmer  ! 

For  a  long;  time  Allan  stared  without  a  motion.  The 
form  was  still,  but  the  face  looked  so  quiet  !  The  eyes 
were  closed,  as  in  slumber.  Allan  put  out  a  trembling 
hand,  inch  by  inch,  and  touched  him  011  the  shoulder  ;  he 
did  not  move.  Then  the  young  man  slid  his  hand  up 
toward  the  face,  and  touched  that.  His  hand  leaped  back 
with  a  start.  The  face  was  cold. 

The  sergeant  was  dead,  then.  Allan  continued  to  gaze, 
fear  stealing  over  him.  He  was  gone  away  !  How  hard 
he  had  fought,  and  now  he  would  never  fight  again  !  He 
had  given  his  life  —  "  for  freedom  " !  With  a  sudden  thrill 
Allan  started  up  and  gazed  round  him.  Had  he  given  it 
for  nothing  ?  For  the  first  time  now  it  occurred  to  him 
to  ask  the  all-important  question  —  what  the  issue  of  the 
battle  had  been. 

Somebody  must  have  won,  or  they  would  still  be  fight- 
ing. And  these  camp-fires  about  here  —  which  side  did 
they  belong  to  ?  If  he  could  know  that,  he  would  know 
everything ;  but  how  was  he  to  know  it  ?  He  could  hear 
voices,  now  and  then,  in  the  distance  —  if  he  could  get  to 
them  and  find  out!  But  they  were  so  far  away!  It  did 
not  occur  to  him  that  he  might  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
enemy  ;  whichever  side  had  won,  it  was  over,  and  what  did 
anything  else  matter  ? 

He  got  to  his  feet.  The  water  had  refreshed  him,  and 
he  was  able  to  walk.  He  went  slowly,  for  every  motion 
was  an  agony.  He  walked  along  the  edge  of  the  woods, 
supporting  himself  by  the  trees ;  it  was  hard  to  keep  his 


408  MANASSAS 

head  —  his  faculties  would  start  off,  and  he  would  have  to 
bring  them  back. 

He  went  down  a  little  slope,  stumbling  upon  a  dead 
body  now  and  then,  and  finally  he  came  to  a  road.  He 
waited  here  for  a  time,  in  the  hope  that  some  one  or  some- 
thing might  go  by,  giving  him  the  information  he  wanted. 
Dead  bodies  lay  here,  and  broken  wagons,  and  other 
wreckage,  but  nothing  moving.  Allan  was  about  to  start 
on,  when  suddenly  he  heard  a  strange  noise  in  the  thicket, 
and  stood  still.  This  noise  sounded  like  the  gobbling  of 
a  turkey,  more  than  anything,  and  he  wondered  what  sort 
of  an  animal  could  be  there.  It  was  moving  close  by  in 
the  bushes  —  twigs  cracked,  and  the  branches  rustled. 

Then  the  perplexing  sound  came  again,  and  out  of  the 
dark  shadows  there  emerged  the  form  of  a  man.  He  had 
apparently  seen  Allan ;  he  came  toward  him,  waving  his 
hands  before  him  in  a  frantic  sort  of  way.  The  strange 
gobbling  sound  came  again,  and  a  sudden  fear  stole  over 
Allan.  He  was  not  afraid  of  anything  human  just  then ; 
but  this  ?  —  And  an  instant  later  the  moon  emerged  from 
a  cloud,  and  he  gave  a  scream.  This  man  —  this  thing  — 
great  God,  it  had  no  jaw,  it  had  no  mouth  !  Where  its 
face  should  have  been  was  a  great,  gaping,  black  hole ! 
It  was  some  demon-creature,  some  nightmare !  And  it 
came  on  at  him,  trying  to  talk ! 

He  turned  and  fled,  like  one  possessed.  Once  he 
glanced  over  his  shoulder.  The  thing  was  following,  wav- 
ing its  arms,  calling ! 

Allan  must  have  run  for  half  a  mile  —  he  ran  until 
he  was  utterly  exhausted.  Then  he  sank  down  and  lay 
watching  like  a  hunted  animal  down  the  road,  to  see  if  the 
thing  would  reappear. 

It  did  not,  and  after  a  while  he  began  to  listen  for 
something  else.  He  fancied  that  he  heard  a  stream,  and 
he  got  up  again,  and  started  toward  it.  The  sound  of  it 
drew  him  like  a  magnet,  and  when  he  had  come  to  it  he 
lay  down  by  the  ford,  and  drank  and  drank,  and  bathed 
his  face  and  hands.  The  blood  had  begun  to  ooze  out  of 


THE   BATTLE  409 

the  cut  upon  his  head,  and  he  bound  that  up  with  a  strip 
of  his  shirt.     Then  he  got  up  and  staggered  on. 

Across  the  ford  and  down  the  road  —  what  strange 
sights  were  here !  A  vision  of  destruction  burst  upon 
him.  The  road  was  literally  piled  with  baggage ;  in  the 
ditches  on  each  side  there  were  mountains  of  it  —  rifles 
and  blankets,  knapsacks  and  cartridge-belts,  harness,  cloth- 
ing, tents,  chests  of  stores,  forges  —  what  was  there,  of  all 
the  endless  paraphernalia  of  an  army,  that  was  not  to  be 
found  flung  wide  along  this  fearful  pathway?  There  were 
cannon  tumbled  here  and  there  —  there  were  scores  of 
them  —  and  caissons  and  artillery  wagons,  inextricably 
tangled.  Before  this  Allan  had  seen  signs  of  a  battle  of 
men;  but  here  seemed  to  have  been  a  battle  of  things. 
Did  this  always  happen  after  a  fight  ?  he  asked  himself. 
When  men  got  through  fighting,  did  they  leave  their 
weapons  where  they  had  fought?  It  was  here  as  if  a 
tempest  had  smitten  an  army,  and  scattered  it  to  the  four 
winds  of  heaven ! 

He  was  dazed  ;  he  stumbled  along,  through  it  all,  pick- 
ing his  way  as  best  he  could,  striving  to  think  what  it 
meant.  Gradually  as  he  went  on  and  on,  and  the  signs 
of  it  did  not  cease,  the  truth  forced  itself  upon  him  —  that 
it  meant  a  defeat,  a  terrible  defeat,  for  one  side  or  the 
other.  One  side  or  the  other  had  fled  in  wild  confusion  ! 
One  nation  or  the  other  was  ruined  beyond  all  hope  !  But 
which  ?  Which  ?  He  cried  aloud  in  the  agony  of  his  sud- 
den uncertainty.  In  God's  name,  how  was  he  to  find  out  ? 

He  weighed  the  chances,  as  he  had  left  the  battle  when 
he  fell.  Surely  they  had  been  winning  —  they  had  been 
winning  all  day,  before  Allan  came  !  And  then  it  must 
be  the  enemy  which  had  fled  down  the  road,  abandoning 
everything.  And  where  were  they  now  ?  Where  was 
the  Union  army  ?  Had  it  followed  them  and  passed  on  ? 
If  only  it  had  been  light  enough,  so  that  he  could  have 
examined  the  debris  and  made  sure  ! 

He  staggered  on,  in  torment,  until  he  heard  another 
stream  ;  he  crept  down  to  the  ford  to  drink  again.  Lying 


410  MANASSAS 

there  resting,  he  thought  suddenly  that  he  heard  voices 
singing,  and  sat  up  and  listened.  They  seemed  to  be 
coming  down  the  road,  and  soon  the  sounds  of  horses 
trotting  came  with  them  ;  here  were  people,  he  thought 
swiftly,  and  from  them  he  would  learn  what  he  wanted  ! 
Then  the  riders  —  there  were  several  of  them  —  rounded 
a  turn,  and  their  voices  came  to  him  clear  and  loud.  They 
were  singing  with  passionate  fervor  —  a  song  that  Allan 
had  never  heard  before.  He  listened  :  — 

"  The  despot's  heel  is  on  thy  shore, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland ! 
His  torch  is  at  thy  temple  door, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland! 
Avenge  the  patriotic  gore 
That  flecked  the  streets  of  Baltimore, 
And  be  the  battle-queen  of  yore, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland ! " 

They  sang  two  verses  more,  and  the  glory  of  their  sing- 
ing seemed  fairly  to  lift  them  out  of  their  saddles.  Their 
tones  rang  far  in  the  stillness  of  the  evening  —  they  sang 
like  men  possessed.  As  they  came  into  view  and  rode 
down  into  the  stream,  they  were  roaring  out  the  last  verse 
of  the  wild  and  furious  chant  :  — 

"  I  hear  the  distant  thunder  hum, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland ! 
The  Old  Line's  bugle,  fife,  and  drum, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland ! 
She  is  not  dead,  nor  deaf,  nor  dumb  — 
Huzza!     She  spurns  the  Northern  scum! 
She  breathes  —  she  burns  !    She'll  come !     She'll  come ! 

Maryland,  my  Maryland !  " 

And  then  ceasing,  the  singers  burst  into  loud  laughter 
and  cheering.  Allan,  crouched  where  he  was  by  the  bank, 
remained  staring,  trembling.  He  knew  the  three  voices, 
he  knew  the  three  figures,  he  knew  their  uniforms  !  The 
riders  werk  Randolph  and  his  brother,  and  Ethel's  Imwbnru1. 
"Billy  "Hinds. 


THE   BATTLE  411 

They  had  halted  at  the  ford  to  let  their  horses  drink. 
Meantime  they  drank  also  —  out  of  a  bottle  which  'Dolph 
pulled  out  and  passed  to  them.  'Dolph  was  drunk ;  but 
whether  he  was  drunk  upon  wine  or  battle  was  more  than 
any  one  could  tell.  He  laughed,  he  shouted  —  all  the  while 
he  was  still  beating  the  time  of  the  song  with  one  hand, 
shaking  his  head  to  the  "  melody  unheard  "  ;  his  face  was 
alive  with  the  glow  of  it,  his  eyes  shone  —  no  wilder  sight 
than  he  had  Allan  seen  that  day.  One  of  his  arms  was 
bound  up,  and  there  was  blood  on  it,  but  that  did  not 
seem  to  trouble  him  as  he  waved  it  in  the  air.  He  had 
begun  the  song  again,  half  to  himself,  and  he  finished  a 
verse  with  a  whoop  ;  then,  as  his  brother  and  his  cousin 
started  again,  he  spurred  his  horse  and  leaped  upon  the 
bank,  and  there  whirled  about,  raising  his  clenched 
fist.  "  Come  back  !  "  he  roared.  "  Come  again,  God 
damn  you,  and  we'll  give  you  more  of  it  ! "  Allan 
thought  for  an  instant  that  'Dolph  was  shouting  to  him  ; 
but  then  in  a  sudden  flash  of  horror  he  realized  that  it 
was  the  North  he  was  addressing  !  "  Come  just  as  often 
as  you  like  !  "  'Dolph  yelled.  "  Raise  another  army  — 
you'll  find  us  here  just  as  long  as  you  want  us  !  "  And 
then  the  speaker  rushed  on,  to  pour  out  a  torrent  of  pro- 
fanity upon  the  heads  of  his  imaginary  auditors.  The 
two  behind  him  laughed  hilariously  —  huzzaed  and  clapped 
their  hands  in  glee  —  while  'Dolph  ran  the  whole  gamut 
of  execration  and  mockery.  He  cursed  them  —  the 
Yankee  hounds  —  by  the  heavens  above,  and  the  earth  be- 
neath, and  the  waters  under  the  earth,  and  the  fire  under 
the  waters  ;  he  cursed  their  cowardly  fathers  and  their 
cowardly  grandfathers,  their  cowardly  ancestors  from  the 
flood,  and  their  cowardly  posterity  to  the  day  of  doom. 
It  was  a  very  symphony  of  profanity  —  and  from  it  the 
shuddering  listener  on  the  ground  learned  at  last  what 
had  been  the  issue  of  the  battle,  the  issue  of  all  his  toil 
and  agony,  of  his  cousin's  and  the  sergeant's  death.  That 
it  was  the  Northern  army  that  had  been  routed  !  The 
Northern  army  that  was  gone  back  to  Washington  in  wild, 
panic  flight  ! 


412  MANASSAS 

And  when  he  was  breathless,  'Dolph  turned  and  the 
three  rode  on  upon  their  way.  They  began  singing 
again  —  and  Allan  heard  their  voices  dying  far  away  in 
the  distance  : 

"  War  to  the  hilt ! 
Theirs  be  the  guilt, 
Who  fetter  the  freeman 
To  ransom  the  slave  1 " 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


100m-8,'65(F6282s8)2373 


PS3537.I85M3 


2106  00214  5727 


